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PELHAM’S VISIT TO THE BREAKFAST-TABLE OF THE REV. COMBER- 

MERE ST. QUINTIN. 






Pelham 



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QL\)t ItovtJ Uptton IBtutton. 


PELIIAM 

I 

OR 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


BY 

SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, BART. 

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Je suis peu 8£v£re, mais sage — 

PHILOSOPHE, MAI3 AMOUREUX 

Mon art est de me rendre heureux. 

J’y r£ussis — EN faut-il d’advantage?” 

“A COMPLETE GENTLEMAN, WHO, ACCORDING TO SIR FOPLING, OUGHT TO 
DRIBS WELL, DANCE WELL, FENCE WELL, HAVE A GENIUS FOR LOVE-LETTERS, 
AMD AN AGREEABLE VOICE FOR A CHAMBER.” — Ulherege. 


/ 



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 



PHILADELPHIA 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
1881 . 




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PREFACE 


TO 

THE EDITION OF 1828 * 


I believe if we were to question every author 
upon the subject of his literary grievances, we should 
find that the most frequent of all complaints, was less 
that of being unappreciated, than that of being mis- 
understood. All of us write perhaps with some secret 
object, for which the world cares not a straw : and 
while each reader fixes his peculiar moral upon a 
book, no one, by any chance, hits upon that which 
the author had in his own heart designed to inculcate. 
Hence this Edition of “ Pelham” acquires that ap- 
pendage in the shape of an explanatory preface which 
the unprescient benevolence of the author did not 
inflict on his readers when he first confided his work 
to their candor and discretion. Even so, some Can- 
didate for Parliamentary Honors first braves the 
hustings ; — relying only on the general congeniality 
of sentiment between himself and the Electors — but 


1 * 


(▼) 


* Viz., the Second Edition. 


vi 


PREFACE TO THE 


alas ! once chosen, the liberal confidence, which took 
him upon trust is no more, and when he reappears 
to commend himself to the popular suffrage, he is 
required to go into the ill-bred egotisms of detail — 
and explain all that he has done and all that he has 
failed to do, to the satisfaction of an enlightened but 
too inquisitive constituency. 

It is a beautiful part in the economy of this world, 
that nothing is without its use ; every weed in the 
great thoroughfares of life has a honey, which Obser- 
vation can easily extract; and we may glean no 
unimportant wisdom from Folly itself, if we distin- 
guish while we survey, and satirize while we share 
it. It is in this belief that these volumes have their 
origin. I have not been willing that even the com- 
mon-places of society should afford neither a record 
nor a moral ; and it is therefore from the common- 
places of society that the materials of this novel have 
been wrought. By treating trifles naturally, they 
may be rendered amusing, and that which adherence 
to Nature renders amusing, the same cause also may 
render instructive : for Nature is the source of all 
morals, and the enchanted well, from which not a 
single drop can be taken, that has not the power of 
curing some of our diseases. 

I have drawn for the hero of my Work ; such a 
person as seemed to me best fitted to retail the opin- 


EDITION OF 182 8. 


vii 


ions and customs of the class and age to which he 
belongs; a personal combination of antitheses — a 
fop and a philosopher, a voluptuary and a moralist 
— a trifler in appearance, but rather one to whom 
trifles are instructive, than one to whom trifles are 
natural — an Aristippus on a limited scale, accus- 
tomed to draw sage conclusions from the follies he 
adopts, and while professing himself a votary of 
Pleasure, desirous in reality to become a disciple of 
Wisdom. Such a character I have found it more 
difficult to portray than to conceive : I have found it 
more difficult still, because I have with it nothing in 
common,* except the taste for observation, and some 
experience in the scenes among which it has been 
cast ; and it will readily be supposed that it is no 
easy matter to survey occurrences the most familiar 
through a vision, as it were, essentially and perpetu- 
ally different from that through which oneself has 
been accustomed to view them. This difficulty in 
execution will perhaps be my excuse in failure ; and 

* I regret extremely that by this remark I should be necessitated 
to relinquish the flattering character I have for so many months 
borne, and to undeceive not a few of my most indulgent critics, 
who in reviewing my work have literally considered the Author 
and the Hero one flesh. “We have only,” said one of them, “to 
complain of the Author’s egotisms ; he is perpetually talking of 
himself!” — Poor gentleman! from the first page to the last, the 
Author never uttprs a syllable. — [The few marginal notes in which 
the Author himself speaks, were not added till the present Edition.] 





PREFACE TO THE 


viii 

some additional indulgence may be reasonably granted 
to an author who has rarely found in the egotisms of 
his hero a vent for his own. 

With the generality of those into whose hands a 
novel upon manners is likely to fall, the lighter and 
less obvious the method in which reflection is con- 
veyed, the greater is its chance to be received without 
distaste and remembered without aversion. This will 
be an excuse, perhaps, for the appearance of frivolities 
not indulged for the sake of the frivolity ; under that 
which has most the semblance of levity I have often 
been the most diligent in my endeavors to inculcate 
the substances of truth. The shallowest stream, 
whose bed every passenger imagines he surveys, may 
deposit some golden grains on the plain through 
which it flows ; and we may weave flowers not only 
into an idle garland, but, like the thyrsus of the 
ancients, over a sacred weapon. 

It now only remains for me to add my hope that 
this edition will present the “adventures of a gen- 
tleman ” in a less imperfect shape than the last, and 
in the words of the erudite and memorable Joshua 
Barnes,* “ So to begin my intended discourse, if not 
altogether true, yet not wholly vain, nor perhaps 
deficient in what may exhilarate a witty fancy, or 
inform a bad moralist." 

THE AUTHOR. 

October , 1828. 

* In the Preface to his Gerania. 


PREFACE 


TO 

THE EDITION OF 1840.* 


The holiday time of life, in which this novel was 
written, while accounting, perhaps in a certain gaiety 
of tone, for the popularity it has received, may per- 
haps also excuse, in some measure, its more evident 
deficiencies and faults. Although I trust the time 
has passed when it might seem necessary to protest 
against those critical assumptions which so long con- 
founded the author with the hero; — although I 
equally trust that, even were such assumptions true, 
it would be scarcely necessary to dispute the justice 
of visiting upon later and more sobered life, the 
supposed foibles and levities of that thoughtless age 
of eighteen, in which this fiction was first begun, — 
yet, perhaps, some short sketch of the origin of a 
work, however idle, the success of which determined 
the literary career of the author, may not be consid- 
ered altogether presumptuous or irrevelant. 

While, yet, then a boy in years, but with some 
experience of the world, which I entered prematurely, 

♦Viz., in the first collected edition of the Author’s prose works, 

(ix) 


X 


PREFACE TO THE 


I had the good fortune to be confined to my room by 
a severe illness, towards the end of a London season. 
All my friends were out of town, and I was left to 
such resources as solitude can suggest to the tedium 
of sickness. I amused myself by writing with incred- 
ible difficulty and labor (for till then prose was a 
country almost as unknown to myself as to Monsieur 
Jourdain) some half a dozen tales and sketches. 
Among them was a story called “ Mortimer, or the 
Memoirs of a Gentleman.” Its commencement was 
almost word for word the same as that of “ Pelham ; ” 
but the design was exactly opposite to that of the 
latter and later work. “Mortimer” was intended 
to show the manner in which the world deteriorates 
its votary, and “Pelham,” on the contrary, conveys 
the newer, and, I believe, sounder moral, of showing 
how a man of sense can subject the usages of the 
world to himself instead of being conquered by them, 
and gradually grow wise by the very foibles of his 
youth. 

This tale, with the sketches written at the same 
period, was sent anonymously to a celebrated pub- 
lisher, who considered the volume of too slight a 
nature for separate publication, and recommended 
me to select the best of the papers for a magazine. 
I was not at that time much inclined to a periodical 
mode of publishing, and thought no more of what, 
if* nugce to the reader, had indeed been dificiles to 
the author. Soon afterwards I went abroad. On my 
return I sent a collection of letters to Mr. Colburn 


* Nugce, trifles; dijficiles, difficult. 


EDITION OF 1840. 


id 

for publication, which, for various reasons, I after- 
wards worked up into a fiction, and which (greatly 
altered from their original form) are now known to 
the public under the name of “ Falkland.” 

While correcting the sheets of that tale for the 
press, I was made aware of many of its faults. But 
it was not till it had been fairly before the public 
that I was sensible of its greatest ; namely, a sombre 
coloring in life, and the indulgence of a vein of sen- 
timent, which, though common enough to all very 
young minds in their first bitter experience of the 
disappointments of the world, had certainly ceased 
to be new in its expression, and had never been true 
in its philosophy. 

The effect which the composition of that work 
produced upon my mind, was exactly similar to that 
which (if I may reverently quote so illustrious an 
example) Goethe informs us the writing of “ Werter ” 
produced upon his own. I had rid my bosom of its 
“ perilous stuff,” — I had confessed my sins, and was 
absolved, — I could return to real life and its whole- 
so ne objects. Encouraged by the reception which 
“ Falkland” met with, flattering though not brilliant, 
I resolved to undertake a new and more important 
fiction. I had long been impressed with the truth 
of an observation of Madame de Stael, that a char- 
acter at once gay and sentimental is always successful 
on the stage. I resolved to attempt a similar character 
for a novel, making the sentiment, however, infinitely 
less prominent than the gaiety. My boyish attempt 
of the “Memoirs of a Gentleman” occured to me, 


xii 


PREFACE TO THE 


and I resolved upon this foundation to build my fiction. 
After a little consideration I determined, however, to 
enlarge and ennoble the original character : the char- 
acter itself, of the clever man of the world corrupted 
by the world, was not new; it had already been 
represented by Mackenzie, by Moore in “ Zeluco,” and 
in some measure by the master-genius of Richardson 
itself, in the incomparable portraiture of Lovelace. 
The moral to be derived from such a creation seemed 
to me also equivocal and dubious. It is a moral of a 
gloomy and hopeless school. We live in the world; 
the great majority of us, in a state of civilization, 
must, more or less, be men of the world. It struck 
me that it would be a new, an useful, and perhaps a 
happy moral, to show in what manner we might 
redeem and brighten the common-places of life ; to 
prove (what is really the fact) that the lessons of 
society do not necessarily corrupt, and that we may 
be both men of the world, and even, to a certain 
degree, men of pleasure, and yet be something wiser 
— nobler — better. With this idea I formed in my 
mind the character of Pelham; revolving its qualities 
long and seriously before I attempted to describe them 
on paper. For the formation of my story, I studied 
w ith no slight attention the great works of my pre- 
decessors, and attempted to derive from that study 
certain rules and canons to serve me as a guide ; and, 
if some of my younger contemporaries whom I could 
name would only condescend to take the same pre- 
liminary pains that I did, I am sure that the result 
would be much more brilliant. It often happens to 


EDITION OF 1840. 


xiii 

me to be consulted by persons about to attempt, fiction, 
and I invariably find that they imagine they have 
only to sit down and write. They forget that art 
does not come by inspiration, and that the novelist, 
dealing constantly with contrast and effect, must, in 
the widest and deepest sense of the word, study to 
be an artist. They paint pictures for Posterity with- 
out having learned to draw. 

Few critics have, hitherto, sufficiently considered, 
and none, perhaps, have accurately defined, the pecu- 
liar characteristics of prose fiction in its distinct 
schools and multiform varieties : — of the two principal 
species, the Narrative and Dramatic, I chose for 
“ Pelham” my models in the former; and when it 
was objected, at the first appearance of that work," 
that the plot was not carried on through every inci- 
dent and every scene, the critics, evidently confounded 
the two classes of fiction I have referred to, and asked 
from a work in one what ought only to be the attri- 
butes of a work in the other : the dazzling celebrity 
of Scott, who deals almost solely with the dramatic 
species of fiction, made them forgetful of the examples, 
equally illustrious., in the narrative form of romance, 
to be found in Smollett, in Fielding, and Le Sage. 
Perhaps, indeed, there is in “ Pelham” more of plot 
and of continued interest, and less of those inciden ts 
that do not either bring out the character of the hero, 
or conduce to the catastrophe, than the narrative 
order may be said to require, or than is warranted 
by the great examples I have ventured to name. 

After due preparation, I commenced and finished 

I— 2 


XIV 


PRE FACE TO THE 


the first volume of “ Pelham.” Various circumstances 
then suspended my labors, till several months after- 
wards I found myself quietly buried in the country, 
and with so much leisure on my hands, that I was 
driven, almost in self-defence from ennui, to continue 
and conclude my attempt. 

It may serve perhaps to stimulate the courage and 
sustain the hopes of others to remark, that “the 
Reader” to whom the MS. was submitted by the 
publisher, pronounced the most unfavorable and dam- 
ning opinion upon its chances of success, — an opinion 
fortunately reversed by Mr. Ollier, the able and 
ingenious author of “Inesilla,” to whom it was then 
referred. The book was published, and I may add, 
that for about two months it appeared in a fair way 
of perishing prematurely in its cradle. With the 
exception of two most flattering and generously- 
indulgent notices in the “Literary Gazette” and the 
“ Examiner,” and a very encouraging and friendly 
criticism in the “Atlas,” it was received by the critics 
with indifference or abuse. They mistook its purport, 
and translated its satire literally. But about the 
third month it rose rapidly into the favor it has since 
continued to maintain. Whether it answered all the 
objects it attempted I cannot pretend to say ; one at 
least I imagine that it did answer : I think, above 
most works, it contributed to put an end to the Sa- 
tanic mania, — to turn the thoughts and ambition of 
young gentlemen without neckcloths, and young 
clerks who were sallow, from playing the Corsair, 
and boasting that they were villains. If, mistaking 


EDITION OF 18 40. 


3LV 

the irony of Pelham, they went to the extreme of 
emulating the foibles which that hero attributes to 
himself — those were foibles at least more harmless, 
and even more manly and noble, than the conceit of 
a general detestation of mankind, or the vanity of 
storming our pity by lamentations over imaginary 
sorrows, and sombre hints at the fatal burthen of 
inexpiable crimes.* 

Such was the history of a publication, which if 
not actually my first, was the one whose fate was 
always intended to decide me whether to conclude or 
continue my attempts as an author. 

I can repeat, unaffectedly, that I have indulged this 
egotism, not only as a gratification to that common 
curiosity which is felt by all relative to the early 
works of an author, who, whatever be his faults and 
demerits, has once obtained the popular ear ; — but 
also as affording, perhaps, the following lessons to 
younger writers of less experience but of more genius 
than myself. First, in attempting fiction, it may 
serve to show the use of a critical study of its rules, 
for to that study I owe every success in literature I 
have obtained ; and in the mere art of composition, 
if I have now obtained to even too rapid a facility, I 
must own that that facility has been purchased by a 
most laborious slowness in the first commencement, 
and a resolute refusal to write a second sentence until 

* Sir Reginald Glanville was drawn purposely of the would-be 
Byron School as a foil to Pelham. For one who would think of 
imitating the first, ten thousand would be unawares attracted to the 
last. 


XVI PREFACE TO THE 

I had expressed my meaning in the best manner I 
could in the first. And, secondly, it may prove the 
very little value of those “cheers,” of the want of 
which Sir Egerton Brydges* so feelingly complains, 
and which he considers so necessary towards the 
obtaining for an author, no matter what his talents, 
his proper share of popularity. I knew not a single 
critic, and scarcely a single author, when I began to 
write. I have never received to this day a single 
" word of encouragement from any of those writers 
who were considered at one time the dispensers of 
reputation. Long after my name was not quite 
unknown in every other country where English liter- 
ature is received, the great quarterly journals of my 
own disdained to recognize my existence. Let no 
man cry out then “ for cheers,” or for literary patron- 
age, and let those aspirants, who are often now pleased 
to write to me, lamenting their want of interest and 
their non-acquaintance with critics, learn from the 
author (insignificant though he be) who addresses 
them in sympathy and fellowship, — that a man’s 
labors are his best patrons, — that the public is the 
only critic that has no interest and no motive in under- 
rating him, — that the world of an author is a mighty 
circle of which enmity and envy can penetrate but a 
petty segment, and that the pride of carving with 
our own hands our own name is worth all the “ cheers” 
in the world. Long live Sidney’s gallant and lofty 
motto, “Aut viam inveniam aut faciam /” f 


* In the melancholy and painful pages of his autobiography, 
f I will either find a way or make it. 


ADVEKTISEMENT 


TO 

THE PRESENT EDITION. 


No ! — you cannot guess, my dear reader, how long 
my pen has rested over the virgin surface of this 
paper, before even that “ No,” which now stands out 
so bluffly and manfully, took heart and stept forth. 
If, peradventure, thou shouldst, 0 reader, be that 
rarity in these days — a reader who has never been 
an author — thou canst form no conception of the 
strange aspect which the first page of a premeditated 
composition will often present to the curious investi- 
gator into the initials of things. There is a sad 
mania now-a-days for collecting autographs — would 
that some such collector would devote his researches 
to the first pages of auctorial manuscripts ! He would 
then form some idea of the felicitous significance of 
that idiomatic phrase, 11 to cudgel the brains ! ” — Out 
nf what grotesque zigzags, and fantastic arabesques, 

2 * b ( xvii ) 


iviii ADVERTISEMENT TO THE 

— out of wliat irrelevant, dreamy illustrations from 
the sister art, — houses, and trees, and profile sketches 
of men, nightmares, and chimeras — out of what 
massacres of whole lines, prematurely and timidly 
ventured forth as forlorn hopes, — would he see the 
first intelligible words creep into actual life — shy 
streaks of light, emerging from the chaos ! For that 
rash promise of mine, that each work ir this edition 
of works so numerous, shall have its own new and 
special Preface, seems to me hard, in this instance, 
to fulfil. Another Preface ! what for? Two Prefaces 
to “ Pelham” already exist, wherein all that I would 
say is said ! And in going back through that long 
and crowded interval of twenty years, since the first 
appearance of this work, — what shadows rise to 
beckon me away through the glades and alleys in that 
dim labyrinth of the Past ! Infant Hopes, scarce 
born ere fated, poor innocents, to die — gazing upon 
me with reproachful eyes, as if I myself had been 
their unfeeling butcher ; — audacious Enterprises 
boldly begun, to cease in abrupt whim, or chilling 
doubt — looking now through the mists, zoophital or 
amphibious, like those borderers on the animal and 
vegetable life, which flash on us with the seeming 
flutter of a wing, to subside away into rooted stems 
and withering leaves. How can I escape the phantom 
throng ? How return to the starting-post, and recall 
the ardent emotions with which youth sprung forth 
to the goal ? To write fitting Preface to this work, 
which, if not my first, was the first which won an 


t 

PRESENT EDITION. XIX 

audience and secured a reader, I must myself become 
a phantom, with the phantom crowd. It is the ghost 
of my youth that I must call up. What we are , 
alone hath flesh and blood — what we have been, like 
the what we shall be, is an idea ; and no more ! An 
idea how dim and impalpable ! This our sense of 
identity, this “I” of ours, which is the single thread 
that continues from first to last — single thread that 
binds flowers changed every day, and withered every 
night — how thin and meagre is it of itself — how 
difficult to lay hold of ! When we say “ I remember ” 
how vague a sentiment we utter ! how different it is 
to say “ I feel !" And when in this effort of memory 
we travel back all the shadow-land of years — when 
we say “ I remember,” what is it we retain, but some 
poor solitary fibre in the airy mesh of that old gossa- 
mer, which floated between earth and heaven — moist 
with the dews and sparkling in the dawn? — Some 
one incident, some one affection we recall, but not all 
the associations that surrounded it, all the companions 
of the brain or the heart, with which it formed one 
of the harmonious contemporaneous ring. Scarcely 
even have we traced and seized one fine filament in 
the broken web, ere it is lost again. In the inextri- 
cable confusion of old ideas, many that seem of the 
time we seek to grasp again, but were not so, seize 
and distract us. From the clear effort we sink into 
the vague reverie ; the Present hastens to recall and 
dash us onward, and few, leaving the actual world 
around them when they say “ I remember ” do not 


0 

XX ADVERTISEMENT TO THE 

wake as from a dream, with a baffled sigh, and mur- 
mur “ No, I forget.” And therefore, if a new Preface 
to a work written twenty years ago, should contain 
some elucidation of the aims and objects with which 
it was composed, or convey some idea of the writer's 
mind at that time, my pen might well rest long over 
the blank page ; — and houses and trees, and profile 
sketches of men, nightmares and chimeras, and whole 
passages scrawled and erased, might well illustrate 
the barren travail of one who sits down to say “ I 
remember ! ” 

What changes in the outer world since this book 
was written ! What changes of thrones and dynas- 
ties ! Through what cycles of hope and fear has a 
generation gone ! And in that inner world of Thought 
what old ideas have returned to claim the royalty of 
new ones ! What new ones (new ones then) have 
receded out of sight, in the ebb and flow of the human 
mind, which, whatever the cant phrase may imply, 
advances in no direct steadfast progress, but gains 
here to lose there ; — a tide, not a march. So, too, 
in that slight surface of either world, “ the manners,” 
superficies alike of the action and the thought of an 
age, the ploughshares of twenty years have turned 
up a new soil. 

The popular changes in the Constitution have 
brought the several classes more intimately into con- 
nection with each other ; most of the old affectations 
of fashion and exclusiveness are out of date. We 
have not talked of equality, like our neighbors the 


PRESENT EDITION. XXi 

French, but insensibly and naturally, the tone of 
manners has admitted much of the frankness of the 
principle, without the unnecessary rudeness of the 
pretence. I am not old enough yet to he among the 
indiscriminate praisers of the past, and therefore I 
recognize cheerfully an extraordinary improvement 
in the intellectual and moral features of the English 
world, since I first entered it as an observer. There 
is a far greater earnestness of purpose, a higher cul- 
ture, more generous and genial views, amongst the 
young men of the rising generation than were common 
in the last. The old divisions of party politics remain ; 
but among all divisions there is greater desire of 
identification with the people. Rank is more sensible 
of its responsibilities, Property of its duties. Amongst 
the clergy of all sects, the improvement in zeal, in 
education, in active care for their flocks, is strikingly 
noticeable; the middle class have become more in- 
structed and refined, and yet, (while fused with the 
highest in their intellectual tendencies, reading the 
same books, cultivating the same accomplishments) — • 
they have extended their sympathies more largely 
amongst the humblest. And, in our towns especially, 
what advances have been made amongst the operative 
population ! I do not here refer to that branch of 
cultivation which comprises the questions that belong 
to political inquiry, but to the general growth of more 
refined and less polemical knowledge. Cheap books 
have come in vogue as a fashion during the last 
twenty years — books addressed, not as cheap books 


Xiii ADVERTISEMENT TO THE 

were once, to tlie passions, but to the understanding 
and the taste — books not written down to the sup- 
posed level of uninformed and humble readers, but 
such books as refine the gentleman and instruct the 
scholar. The arts of design have been more appre- 
ciated — the Beautiful has been admitted into the 
pursuits of labor as a principle — Religion has been 
regaining the ground it lost in the latter half of the 
last century. What is technically called education 
(education of the school and the schoolmaster), has 
made less progress than it might. But that inexpres- 
sible diffusion of oral information which is the onty 
culture the old Athenians knew, and which in the 
ready transmission of ideas, travels like light from 
lip to lip, has been insensibly educating the adult 
generation. In spite of all the dangers that menace 
the advance of the present century, I am convinced 
that classes amongst us are far more united than thev 
were in the latter years of George the Fourth. A 
vast mass of discontent exists amongst the operatives, 
it is true, and Chartism is but one of its symptoms ; 
yet that that discontent is more obvious than formerly, 
is a proof that men’s eyes and men’s ears are more 
open to acknowledge its existence — to examine and 
listen to its causes. Thinking persons now occupy 
themselves with that great reality — the People; and 
questions concerning their social welfare, their health, 
their education, their interests, their rights, which 
philosophers alone entertained twmnty years ago, are 
now on the lips of practical men, and in the heavts 


PRESENT EDITION. XXlii 

of all. It is tills greater earnestness — this profounder 
gravity of purpose and of view, which forms the 
most cheering characteristic of the present time ; and 
though that time has its peculiar faults and vices, this 
is not the place to enlarge on them. I have done, 
f nd may yet do so, elsewhere. This work is the 
picture of manners in certain classes of society twenty 
years ago, and in that respect I believe it to be true 
and faithful. Nor the less so, that under the frivol- 
ities of the hero, it is easy to recognize the substance 
of those more serious and solid qualities which Time 
has educed from the generation and the class he 
represents. Mr. Pelham studying Mills on Govern- 
ment and the Political Economists, was thought by 
some an incongruity in character at the day in which 
Mr. Pelham first appeared — the truth of that con- 
ception is apparent now, at least to the observant. 
The fine gentlemen of that day were preparing them- 
selves for the after things, which were already fore- 
shadowed ; and some of those, then best known in 
clubs and drawing-rooms, have been since foremost 
and boldest, nor least instructed, in the great struggles 
of public life. 

I trust that this work may now be read without 
prejudice from the silly error that long sought to 
identify the author with the hero. 

Parely indeed, if ever, can we detect the real 
likeness of an author of fiction in any single one of 
his creations. He may live in each of them, but 
only for the time. He migrates into a new form with 


XA1Y ADVERTISEMENT TO PRESENT EDITION. 

e very new character he creates. He may have in 
himself a quality, here and there, in common with 
each, hut others so widely onposite, as to destroy all 
the resemblance you fancy for a moment you have “ 
discovered. However this be, the author has the 
advantage over his work — that the last remains 
stationary, with its faults or merits, and the former 
has the power to improve. The one remains the index 
of its day — the other advances with the century. 
That in a book written in extreme youth, there may 
be much that I would not write now in mature man- 
hood, is obvious; that in spite of its defects, the 
work should have retained to this day the popularity 
it enjoyed in the first six months of its birth, is the 
best apology that can be made for its defects. 

EL B. L. 


London, 1848. 


PELHAM; 

OR, 

ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER I. 

Oil peut-on §tre mieux qu’au sein de sa famille? * — French Song, 

I AM an only child. My father was the younger son of ^ 
one of our oldest earls, my mother the dowerless daughtef 
of a Scotch peer. Mr. Pelham was a moderate whig, and 
gave sumptuous dinners; — Lady Frances was a woman 
of taste, and particularly fond of diamonds and old china. 

Yulgar people know nothing of the necessaries required 
in good society, and the credit they give is as short as 
their pedigree. Six years after my birth, there was an 
execution in our house. My mother was just setting off 

on a visit to the Duchess of D ; she declared it was 

impossible to go without her diamonds. The chief of the 
bailiffs declared it was impossible to trust them out of his 
sight. The matter was compromised — the bailiff went 

* Where can one be better than in the bosom of one’s family? 

I.— 3 ( 25 ) 


26 


PELHAM; OR, 


with my toother to C , and was introduced as my tutor 

“A man of singular merit,” whispered my mother, “bu; 
so shy ! ” Fortunately, the bailiff was abashed, and by 
losing his impudence he kept the secret. At the end of 
the week, the diamonds went to the jeweller’s, and Lady 
Frances wore paste. 

I think it was about a month afterwards that a sixteenth 
cousin left my mother twenty thousand pounds. “ It will 
just pay off our most importunate creditors, and equip 
me for Melton,” said Mr. Pelham. 

“ It will just redeem my diamonds, and re-furnish the 
house,” said Lady Frances. 

The latter alternative was chosen. My father went down 
to run his last horse at Newmarket, and my mother re- 
ceived nine hundred people in a Turkish tent. Both were 
equally fortunate, the Greek and the Turk ; my father’s 
horse lost, in consequence of which he pocketed five thou- 
sand pounds ; and my mother looked so charming as a 
Sultana, that Seymour Conway fell desperately in love 
with her. 

Mr. Conway had just caused two divorces ; and of 
course all the women in London were dying for him — • 
judge then of the pride which Lady Frances felt at his 
addresses. The end of the season was unusually dull, and 
my mother, after having looked over her list of engage- 
ments, and ascertained that she had none remaining worth 
staying for, agreed to elope with her new lover. 

The carriage was at the end of the square. My mother, 
for the first time in her life, got up at six o’clock. Her 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


27 


foot was on the step, and her hand next to Mr. Conway’s 
heart, when she remembered that her favorite china mon- 
ster, and her French dog, were left behind. She insisted 
on returning — re-entered the house, and was coming down 
stairs with one under each arm, when she was met by my 
father and two servants. My father’s valet had discovered 
the flight (I forget how), and awakened his master. 

When my father was convinced of his loss, he called 
for his dressing-gown — searched the garret and the kit- 
chen — looked in the maid’s drawers and the cellaret — and 
finally declared he was distracted. I have heard that the 
servants were quite melted by his grief, and I do not doubt 
it in the least, for he was always celebrated for his skill in 
private theatricals. He was just retiring to vent his grief 
in his dressing-room, when he met my mother. It must 
altogether have been an awkward encounter, and, indeed, 
for my father, a remarkably unfortunate occurrence ; since 
Seymour Conway was immensely rich, and the damages 
would, no doubt, have been proportionably high. Had 
they met each other alone, the affair might easily have 
been settled, and Lady Frances gone off in tranquillity ; 
— those confounded servants are always in the way ! 

I have observed that the distinguishing trait of people 
accustomed to good society, is a calm, imperturbable 
quiet, which pervades all their actions and habits, from 
the greatest to the least : they eat in quiet, move in quiet, 
live in quiet, and lose their wife, or even their money, in 
quiet; while low persons cannot take up either a spoon 


28 


PELHAM; OR, 


or an affront without making such an amazing noise about 
it. To render this observation good, and to return to the 
intended elopement, nothing farther was said upon tha* 
event. My father introduced Conway to Brookes’s, aL 
invited him to dinner twice a week for a whole twelve 
mouth. 

Not long after this occurrence, by the death of my 
randfather, my uncle succeeded to the title and estates 
of the family. He was, as people rather justly observed, 
rather an odd man : built schools for peasants, forgave 
poachers, and diminished his farmers’ rents ; indeed, on 
account of these and similar eccentricities, he was thought 
a fool by some, and a madman by others. However, he 
was not quite destitute of natural feeling ; for he paid my 
father’s debts, and established us in the secure enjoyment 
of our former splendor. But this piece of generosity, or 
justice, was done in the most unhandsome manner ; he 
obtained a promise from my father to retire from whist, 
and relinquish the turf; and he prevailed upon my mother 
to conceive an aversion to diamonds, and an indifference 
to china monsters. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


29 


CHAPTER II. 

Tell arts they have no soundness, 

But vary by esteeming; 

Tell schools they want profoundness, 

And stand too much on seeming. 

If arts and schools reply, 

Give arts and schools the lie. — The Soul's Eriand. 

At ten years old I went to Eton. I had been educated 
till that period by my mother, who, being distantly related 

to Lord , (who had published “ Hints upon the 

Culinary Art”), imagined she possessed an hereditary 
claim to literary distinction. History was her great forte , 
for she had read all the historical romances of the day ; 
and history accordingly I had been carefully taught. 

I think at this moment I see my mother before me, re- 
clining on her sofa, and repeating to me some story about 
Queen Elizabeth and Lord Essex ; then telling me, in a 
languid voice, as she sank back with the exertion, of the 
blessings of a literary taste, and admonishing me never to 
read above half an hour at a time, for fear of losing my 
health. 

Well, to Eton I went; and the second day I had been 
there, I was half killed for refusing, with all the pride of 
a Pelham, to wash tea-cups. I was rescued from the 
clutches of my tyrant by a boy not much bigger than my- 
self, but reckoned the best fighter, for his size, in the 
whole school. His name was Reginald Glanville : from 
3 * 


30 


PELHAM; OR, 


that period, we became inseparable, and our friendship 
lasted all the time he stayed at Eton, which was within a 
year of my own departure for Cambridge. 

His father was a baronet, of a very ancient and wealthy 
family ; and his mother was a woman of some talent and 
more ambition. She made her house one of the most 
attractive in London. Seldom seen at large assemblies, 
she was eagerly sought after in the well-winnowed soirees 
of the elect. Her wealth, great as it was, seemed the 
least prominent ingredient of her establishment. There 
was in it no uncalled-for ostentation — no purse-proud 
vulgarity — no cringing to great, and no patronizing con- 
descension to little people ; even the Sunday newspapers 
could not find fault with her, and the querulous wives of 
younger brothers could only sneer and be silent. 

“ It is an excellent connection,” said my mother, when 
I told her of my friendship with Reginald Glanville, “and 
will be of more use to you than many of greater apparent 
consequence. Remember, my dear, that in all the friends 
you make at present, you look to the advantage you can 
derive from them hereafter ; that is what we call knowledge 
of the world, and it is to get the knowledge of the world 
that you are sent to a public school.” 

I think, hhwever, to my shame, that notwithstanding 
my mother’s instructions, very few prudential considera- 
tions were mingled with my friendship for Reginald Glan- 
ville. I loved him with a warmth of attachment, which 
aas since surprised even myself. 

He was of a very singular character : he used to wander 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 31 

by the river in the bright days of summer, when all else 
were at play, without any companion but his own 
thoughts ; and these were tinged, even at that early age, 
with a deep and impassioned melancholy. He was so 
reserved in his manner, that it was looked upon as cold- 
ness or pride, and was repaid as such by a pretty general 
dislike. Yet to those he loved, no one could be more open 
and warm ; more watchful to gratify others, more indif- 
ferent to gratification for himself ; an utter absence of all 
selfishness, and an eager and active benevolence, were 
indeed the distinguishing traits of his character. I have 
seen him endure with a careless good-nature the most 
provoking affronts from boys much less than himself ; but 
if I, or any other of his immediate friends, was injured or 
aggrieved, his anger was almost implacable. Although 
he was of a slight frame, yet early exercise had brought 
strength to his muscles, and activity to his limbs ; while 
there was that in his courage and will which, despite his 
reserve and unpopularity, always marked him out as a 
leader in those enterprises, wherein we test as boys the 
qualities which chiefly contribute to secure hereafter our 
position amongst men. 

Such, briefly and imperfectly sketched, was the char- 
acter of Reginald Glanville — the one, who, of all my early 
companions, differed the most from myself ; yet the one 
whom I loved the most, and the one whose futcre destiny 
was the most intertwined with my own. 

I was in the head class when I left Eton. As I was 
reckoned an uncommonly well-educated boy, it may not 


32 


PELHAM; OR, 


be ungratifying to the admirers of the present system of 
education to pause here for a moment, and recall what I 
then knew. I could make fifty Latin verses in half an 
hour; I could construe, without an English translation, 
all the easy Latin authors, and many of the difficult ones 
with it: I could read Greek fluently, and even translate 
it through the medium of the Latin version technically 
called a crib.* I was thought exceedingly clever, for I 
had been only eight years acquiring all this fund of in- 
formation, which, as one need never recall it in the world, 
you have every right to suppose that I had entirely for- 
gotten before I was five-and-twenty. As I was never 
taught a syllable of English during this period ; as, when 
I once attempted to read Pope’s poems out of school 
hours, I was laughed at, and called “a sa]); v as my mo- 
ther, when I went to school, renounced her own instruc- 
tions ; and as, whatever school-masters may think to the 
contrary, one learns nothing now-a-days by inspiration : 
so of everything which relates to English literature, Eng- 
lish laws, and English history (with the exception of the 
said story of Queen Elizabeth and Lord Essex), you have 
the same right to suppose that I was, at the age of eigh. 
teen, when I left Eton, in the profoundest ignorance. 

At this age, I was transplanted to Cambridge, where 

* It is but just to say that the educational system at public 
schools is greatly improved since the above was written. And take 
those great seminaries altogether, it may be doubted whether an} 
institutions more philosophical in theory are better adapted to se- 
cure that union of classical tastes with manly habits and honorable 
sentiments which distinguishes the English gentleman. 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 33 

I bloomed for two years in the blue and silver of a fellow 
commoner of Trinity. At the end of that time (being of 
royal descent) I became entitled to an honorary degree. 
I suppose the term is in contradistinction to an honorable 
degree, which is obtained by pale men in spectacles and 
cotton stockings, after thirty-six months of intense appli- 
cation. 

I do not exactly remember how I spent my time at 
Cambridge. I had a piano-forte in my room, and a pri- 
vate billiard-room at a village two miles off ; and, between 
these resources, I managed to improve my mind more than 
could reasonably have been expected. To say truth, the 
whole place reeked with vulgarity. The men drank beer 
by the gallon, and ate cheese by the hundred- weight — 
wore jockey-cut coats, and talked slang — rode for wagers, 
and swore when they lost — smoked in your face, and ex- 
pectorated on the floor. Their proudest glory was to 
drive the mail — their mightiest exploit to box with the 
coachman — their most delicate amour to leer at the bar- 
maid.* 

It will be believed, that I felt little regret in quitting 
companions of this description. I went to take leave of 
our college tutor. “Mr. Pelham, ” said he, affectionately 
r.queezing me by the hand, “ your conduct has been most 
exemplary ; you have not walked wantonly over the col- 
lege grass-plats, nor set your dog at the proctor — nor 

* This, at that time, was a character that could only be applied 
to the gayest, that is the worst, set at the University — and perhaps 
now the character may scarcely exist. 


0 


34 


PELHAM; OR, 


driven tandems by day, nor broken lamps by night — nor 
entered the chapel in order to display your intoxication 
— nor the lecture-room, in order to caricature the pro- 
fessors. This is the general behavior of young men of 
family and fortune ; but it has not been yours. Sir, you 
have been an honor to your college.” 

Thus closed my academical career. He who does not 
allow that it passed creditably to my teachers, profitably 
to myself, and beneficially to the world, is a narrow- 
minded and illiterate man, who knows nothing of the 
advantages of modern education. 


CHAPTER III. 

Thus does a false ambition rule us, 

Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us. — Siienstone. 

An open house, haunted with great resort. — B ishop Hall’s Satires. 

I left Cambrige in a very weak state of health ; and 
as nobody had yet come to London, I accepted the in- 
vitation of Sir Lionel Garrett to pay him, a visit at his 
country-seat. Accordingly, one raw winter’s day, full of 
the hopes of the reviving influence of air and exercise, I 
found myself carefully packed up in three great-coats, an J 
on the high road to Garrett Park. 

Sir Lionel Garrett was a character very common in 
England, and, in describing him, I describe the whole 
species. He was of an ancient family, and his ancestors 
had for centuries resided on their estates in Norfolk. Sir 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 35 

Lionel, who came to his majority and his fortune at the 
same time, went up to London at the age of twenty-one, 
a raw, uncouth sort of young man, with a green coat and 
lank hair. His friends in town were of that set whose 
members are above ton, whenever they do not grasp at 
its possession, but who, whenever they do, lose at once 
their aim and their equilibrium, and fall immeasurably 
below it. I mean that set which I call 11 the respectable ,” 
consisting of old peers of an old school ; country gentle- 
men, who still disdain not to love their wine and to hate 
the French ; generals who have served in the army ; elder 
brothers who succeed to something besides a mortgage ; 
and younger brothers who do not mistake their capital 
for their income. To this set you may add the whole of 
the baronetage — for I have remarked that baronets hang 
together like bees or Scotchmen ; and if I go to a baro- 
net’s house, and speak to some one whom I have not the 
happiness to know, I always say “ Sir John!” 

It was no wonder, then, that to thisjset belonged Sir 
Lionel Garrett — no more the youth with a green coat 
and lank hair, but pinched in, and curled out — abounding 
in horses and whiskers — dancing all night — lounging r all 
day — the favorite of the old ladies, the Philander of the 
young. 

One unfortunate evening Sir Lionel Garrett was intro'- 
duced to the celebrated Duchess of D. From that mo- 
ment his head was turned. Before then, he had always 
imagined that he was somebody — that he was Sir Lionel 
Garrett, with a good-looking person and eight thousand 


36 


PELHAM; OR, 


a-year ; he now knew that he was nobody, unless he went 
to Lady G.’s, and unless he bowed to Lady S. Disdain- 
ing all importance derived from himself, it became abso- 
lutely necessary to his happiness, that all his importance 
should be derived solely from his acquaintance with others, 
lie cared not a straw that he was a man of fortune, of 
family, of consequence ; he must be a man of ton ; or he 
was an atom, a nonentity, a very worm, aad no man. No 
lawyer at Gray’s Inn, no galley-slave at the oar, ever 
worked so hard at his task as Sir Lionel Garrett at his. 
Ton , to a single man, is a thing obtainable enough. Sir 
Lionel was just gaining the envied distinction, when he 
saw, courted, and married Lady Harriet Woodstock. 

His new wife was of a modern and not very rich family, 
and striving like Sir Lionel for the notoriety of fashion ; 
but of this struggle he was ignorant. He saw her ad- 
mitted into good society — he imagined she commanded 
it ; she was a hanger-on — he believed she was a leader. 
Lady Harriet was crafty and twenty-four — had no objec- 
tion to be married, nor to change the name of Woodstock 
for Garrett. She kept up the baronet’s mistake till it was 
too : late to repair it. 

Mnrriage did not bring Sir Lionel wisdom. His wife 
was of'flie "same turn of mind as himself : they might have 
been great people in the country — they preferred being 
little people in town. They might have chosen friends 
among persons of respectability and rank — they preferred 
being chosen as acquaintance by persons of ton. Society 
was their being’s end and aim, and the only thing which 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 3^ 

brought them pleasure was the pain of attaining it. Did 
I not say truly that I would describe individuals of a 
common species ? Is there one who reads this, who does 
net recognize that overflowing class of our population, 
whose members would conceive it an insult to be' thought 
of sufficient rank to be respectable for what they are 
who take it as an honor that they are made by their ac- 
quaintance ? — who renounce the ease of living for them- 
selves, for the trouble of living for persons who care not 
a pin for their existence — who are wretched if they are 
not dictated to by others — and who toil, groan, travail, 
through the whole course of life, in order to forfeit their 
independence ? V 4 ^ — " ■ **• 

I arrived at Garrett fcark just time enough to dress for 

I 

dinner. As I was descending the stairs after having 
performed that ceremony, I heard my own name pro- 
nounced by a very soft, lisping voice — “ Henry Pelham l 
dear, what a pretty name. Is he handsome ? ” 

“Rather elegant than handsome,” was the unsatis- 
factory reply, couched in a slow, pompous accent, which 
I immediately recognized to belong to Lady Harriet 
G arrett. 

“ Can we make something of him ? ” resumed the first 
voice, 

“ Something ! ” said Lady Harriet, indignantly ; “ ht 
will be Lord Glenmorris 1 and he is son to Lady Frances 
Pelham.” 

“Ah,” said the lisper, carelessly ; “ but can he write 
poetry, and play proverbes 

1—4 


38 


PELHAM; OR. 

“No, Lady Harriet,” said I, advancing; “but permit 
me, through you, to assure Lady Nelthorpe that he can 
admire those who do.” 

“ So you know me then ?” said the lisper : “ I see we 
shall be excellent friends ; ” and, disengaging herself from 
Lady Harriet, she took my arm, and began discussing 
persons and things, poetry and china, French plays and 
music, till I found myself beside her at dinner, and most 
assiduously endeavoring to silence her by the superior 
engrossments of a bechamelle de poisson. 

I took the opportunity of the pause, to survey the little 
circle of which Lady Harriet was the centre. In the 
first place, there was Mr. Davison, a great political econ- 
omist, a short, dark, corpulent gentleman, with a quiet, 
serene, sleepy countenance ; beside him was a quick, sharp 
little woman, all sparkle and bustle, glancing a small, grey, 
prying eye round the table, with a most restless activity : 
this, as Lady Nelthorpe afterwards informed me, was a 
Miss Trafford, an excellent person for a Christmas in the 
country, whom everybody was dying to have : she was an 
admirable mimic, an admirable actress, and an admirable 
reciter ; made poetry and shoes, and told fortunes by the 
cards, which actually came true I - t %K > 

There was also Mr. Wormwood, the noli-m e-tang ere 
of literary lions — an author who sowed his conversation 
not with flowers but thorns. Nobody could accuse him 
of the flattery generally imputed to his species : through 
the course of a long and varied life, he had never once 
been known to say a civil thing. He was too much dis* 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 39 

liked not to be sought after ; whatever is once notorious, 
even for being disagreeable, is sure to be courted. Oppo- 
site to him sat the really clever, and affectedly pedantic 
Lord Vincent, one of those persons who have been 
“ promising young men ” all their lives ; who are found 
till four o’clock in the afternoon in a dressing-gown, with 
a quarto before them ; who go down into the country for 
six weeks every session, to cram an impromptu reply ; 
and who always have a work in the press which is never 
to be published. 

Lady Nelthorpe herself I had frequently seen. She 
had some reputation for talent, was exceedingly affected, 
wrote poetry in albums, ridiculed her husband, (who was 
a fox-hunter,) and had a particular taste for the fine arts. 

There were four or five others of the unknown vulgar, 
young brothers, who were good shots and bad matches ; 
elderly ladies, who lived in Baker-street, and liked long 
whist ; and young ones, who never took wine, and said 
" Sir! ” 

I must, however, among this number, except the beau- 
tiful Lady Roseville, the most fascinating woman, perhaps, 
of the day. She was evidently the great person there, 
and, indeed, among all people who paid due deference tc 
ton, was always sure to be so everywhere. I have never 
seen but one person more beautiful. Her eyes were of 
the deepest blue ; her complexion of the most delicate 
carnation ; her hair of the richest auburn : nor could even 
Mr. Wormwood detect the smallest fault in the rounded 
yet slender symmetry of her figure. 


40 


PELHAM; OR, 


Although not above twenty-five, she was in that state 
in which alone a woman ceases to be a dependant — 
widowhood. Lord Roseville, who had been dead about 
two years, had not survived their marriage many months ; 
that period was, however, sufficiently long to allow him 
to appreciate her excellence, and to testify his sense of it ; 
the whole of his unentailed property, which was very 
large, he bequeathed to her. 

She was very fond of the society of literary persons, 
though without the pretence of belonging to their order. 
But her manners constituted her chief attraction : while 
they were utterly different from those of every one else, 
you could not, in the least minutiae, discover in what the 
difference consisted : this is, in my opinion, the real test 
of perfect breeding. While you are enchanted with the 
effect, it should possess so little prominency and peculiarity, 
that you should never be able to guess the cause. 

“Pray,” said Lord Vincent to Mr. Wormwood, “have 
you been to P this year?” 

“ No,” was the answer. 

“ I have,” said Miss Trafford, who never lost an oppor- 
tunity of slipping in a word. 

“Well, and did they make you sleep, as usual, at the 
Crown, with the same eternal excuse, after having brought 
you fifty miles from town, of small house — no beds — all 
engaged — inn close by? Ah, never shall I forget that 
inn, with its royal name, and its hard beds — 

‘Uneasy sleeps a head beneath the Crown !” 

"Ha, ha! Excellent!” cried Miss Trafford, who was 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 41 

always the first in at the death of a pun. “Yes, indeed 
they did : poor old Lord Belton, with his rheumatism ; 
and that immense General Grant, with his asthma; to- 
gether with three ‘single men,’ and myself, were safely 
conveyed to that asylum for the destitute.” 

“Ah ! Grant, Grant ! ” said Lord Vincent, eagerly, who 
saw another opportunity of whipping in a pun “ He 
slept there also the same night I did ; and when I saw 
his unwieldy person waddling out of the door the next 
morning, I said to Temple, ‘ Well, that's the largest Grant 
I ever saw from the Crown.' ”* 

“Very good,” said Wormwood, gravely. “I declare, 
Vincent, you are growing quite witty. You know Jekyl, 
of course ! Poor fellow, what a really good punster he 
was — not agreeable though — particularly at dinner — 
no punsters are. Mr. Davison, what is that dish next to 
you ? ” 

Mr. Davison was a great gourmand : “ Salmi de per- 
dreaux aux trujfesf replied the political economist. 

“ Truffles 1 ” said Wormwood, “have you been eating 
any ? ” 

“Yes,” said Davison, with unusual energy, “ and they 
are the best I have tasted for a long time.” 

“Very likely,” said Wormwood, with a dejected air. 
“ I am particularly fond of them, but I dare not touch 
one — truffles are so very apoplectic — you, I make no 
doubt, may eat them in safety.” 

* It was from Mr. J. Smith that Lord Vincent pur’oined this pun. 


42 


PELHAM; OR, 


Wormwood was a tall, meagre man, with a neck a yard 
long. Davison was, as I have said, short and fat, and 
made without any apparent neck at all — only head and 
shoulders, like a codfish. 

Poor Mr. Davison turned perfectly white ; he fidgeted 
about in his chair ; cast a look of the most deadly fear 
and aversion at the fatal dish he had been so attentive to 
before; and, muttering “ apoplectic ! ” closed his lips, 
and did not open them again all dinner-time. 

Mr. Wormwood’s object was effected. Two people 
were silenced and uncomfortable, and a sort of mist hung 
over the spirits of the whole party. The dinner went on 
and off, and like all other dinners ; the ladies retired, and 
the men drank, and talked politics. Mr. Davison left the 
room first, in order to look out the word “truffle,” in the 
Encyclopaedia ; and Lord Vincent and I went next, “lest 

fas my companion characteristically observed) that d d 

Wormwood should, if we stayed a moment longer, ‘send 
us weeping to our beds.’” 




ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


48 


CHAPTER IY. 

Oh ! la belle chose que la Poste ! * — Lettres de SivignS. 

Ay — but who is it? — As you like it. 

I had mentioned to my mother my intended visit to 
Garrett Park, and the second day after my arrival there 
came the following letter : — 

“ My dear Henry, 

“ I was very glad to hear you were rather better th a v 
you had been. I trust you will take great care of yourself. 
I think flannel waistcoats might be advisable ; and, by- 
the-by, they are very good for the complexion. Apropos 
of the complexion : I did not like that blue coat you wore 
when I last saw you — you look best in black — which is 
a great compliment, for people must be very distinguished 
in appearance, in order to do so. 

“You know, my dear, that those Garretts are in them- 
selves anything but unexceptionable ; you will, therefore, 
take care not to be too intimate ; it is, however, a very 
good house : most whom you meet there are worth know- 
ing, for one thing or the other. Remember, Henry, that 
the acquaintance ( not the friends) of second or third-rate 
people are always sure to be good : they are not inde- 
pendent enough to receive whom they like — their whole 
rank is in their guests : you may be also sure that the 


* Oh ! what a beautiful thing is — the Post-office. 


44 


PELHAM; OR, 

•menage will, in outward appearance atleast, be quite comme 
il faut, and for the same reason. Gain as much knowledge 
de Va7't culinaire as you can : it is an accomplishment 
absolutely necessary. You may also pick up a little 
acquaintance with metaphysics, if you have any oppor- 
tunity ; that sort of thing is a good deal talked about 
just at present. 

“ I hear Lady Roseville is at Garrett Park. You must 
be particularly attentive to her; you will probably now 
have an opportunity de faire votre coin' that may never 
again happen. In London, she is so much surrounded 
by all, that she is quite inaccessible to one ; besides, there 
you will have so many rivals. Without flattery to you, 
I take it for granted, that you are the best-looking and 
most agreeable person at Garrett Park, and it will, there- 
fore, be a most unpardonable fault, if you do not make 
Lady Roseville of the same opinion. Nothing, my dear 
son, is like a liaison (quite innocent of course) with a 
woman of celebrity in the world. In marriage a man 
lowers a woman to his own rank ; in an affaire de coeur 
he raises himself to her’s. I need not, I am sure, after 
what I have said, press this point any further. 

“Write to me and inform me of all your proceedings. 
If you mention the people who are at Garrett Park, I can 
tell you the proper line of conduct to pursue with each. 

“I am sure that I need not add that I have nothing 
but your real good at heart, and that I am your very 
affectionate mother, 


“ Frances Pelham. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 45 

u P. S. Never talk muck to young men — remember 
that it is the women who make a reputation in society.” 

“Well,” said I, when I had read this letter, “my 
mother is very right, and so now for Lady Roseville.” 

I went down stairs to breakfast. Miss Trafford and 
Lady Nelthorpe were in the room, talking with great 
interest, and, on Miss Traflford’s part with still greater 
vehemence. 

“ So handsome,” said Lady Nelthorpe, as I approached. 

“Are you talking of me ? ” said I. 

“ Oh, you vanity of vanities I” was the answer. “ No, 
we were speaking of a very romantic adventure which has 
happened to Miss Trafford and myself, and disputing 
about the hero of it. Miss Trafford declares he is fright- 
ful ; I say that he is beautiful. Now, you know, Mr. 
Pelham, as to you ” 

“ There can be but one opinion ; — but the adventure ? 

“ Is' this ! ” cried Miss Trafford, in great fright, lest 
Lady Nelthorpe should, by speaking first, have the pleasure 
of the narration. — “We were walking, two or three days 
ago, by the sea-side, picking up shells and talking about 
the ‘ Corsair,’ when a large fierce ” 

“ Man ! ” interrupted I. 

“No, dog” (renewed Miss Trafford), “flew suddenly 
out of a cave, under a rock, and began growling at dear 
Lady Nelthorpe and me, in the most savage manner 
imaginable. He would certainly have torn us to pieces 
if a very tall ” 

“ Not so very tall either,” said Lady Nelthorpe. 


PELHAM; OR, 


16 

“ Dear, how you interrupt one,” said Miss Trafford, 
pettishly ; “ well, a very short man, then, wrapped up in 
a cloak ” 

“In a great-coat,” drawled Lady Nelthorpe. Miss 
Trafford went on without noticing the emendation, — 
“ had not, with incredible rapidity, sprung down the rock 
and ” 

** Called him off,” said Lady Nelthorpe. 

“ Yes, called him off,” pursued Miss Trafford, looking 
round for the necessary symptoms of our wonder at this 
very extraordinary incident. 

“What is the most remarkable,” said Lady Nelthorpe, 
“ is, that though he seemed from his dress and appearance 
to be really a gentleman, he never stayed to ask if we 
were alarmed or hurt — scarcely even looked at us ” 

(“I don’t wonder at that!” said Mr. Wormwood, who, 
with Lord Yincent, had just entered the room ;) 

“ — and vanished among the rocks as suddenly as he 
appeared.” 

“Ob, you’ve seen that fellow, have you?” said Lord 
Vincent : “ so have I, and a devilish queer-looking person 
he is, — 

* The balls of his broad eyes roll’d in his head, 

And glared betwixt a yellow and a red; 

He look’d a lion with a gloomy stare, 

And o’er his eyebrows hung his matted hair. 

Well remembered, and better applied — eh, Mr. Pelham ?” 

“ Really,” said I, “ I am not able to judge of the appli- 
cation, since I have not seen the hero.” 

4 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 47 

“Oh! it’s admirable,” said Miss Trafford, “just the 
description I should have given of him in prose. But 
pray, where, when, and how did you see him ?” : 

PS 

“Your question is religiously mysterious, tr'iajuncta in 
uno ,” replied Vincent; “but I will answer it with the 
simplicity of a Quaker. The other evening I was coming 
home from one of Sir Lionel’s preserves, and had sent 
the keeper on before, in order more undisturbedly to ” 

“Con witticisms for dinner,” said Wormwood. 

“To make out the meaning of Mr. Wormwood’s last 
work,” continued Lord Vincent. “ My shortest way lay 
through that church-yard about a mile hence, which is 
such a lion in this ugly part of the country, because it 
has three thistles and a tree. Just as I got there, I saw 
a man suddenly rise from the earth, where he appeared 
to have been lying; he stood still for a moment, and then 
(evidently not perceiving me) raised his clasped hands to 
heaven, and muttered some words I was notable distinctly 
to hear. As I approached nearer to him, which I did 
with no very pleasant sensations, a large black dog, which, 
till then, had remained couchant, sprang towards me with 
a loud growl, 

«Sonat hie de nare canina 
Litera,* 

as Fersius has it. I was too terrified to move — 

* Obstupui — steteruntque comoe — ’ 

and I should most infallibly have been converted into 
dog’s meat, if our mutual acquaintance had not started 


48 


PELHAM; OR, 


from his reverie, called his dog by the very appropriate 
name of Terror, and then, slouching his hat over his face, 
passed rapidly by me, dog and all. I did not recover the 

fright for an hour and a quarter. I walked — ye gods, 

how I did walk ! — no wonder, by-the-by, that I mended 
my pace, for as Pliny says truly — 

“ ‘ Timor est emendator asperrimus.’ ” * 

Mr. Wormwood had been very impatient during this 
recital, preparing an attack upon Lord Vincent, when 
Mr. Davison, entering suddenly, diverted the assault. 

“ Good heavens ! ” said Wormwood, dropping his roll, 
“how very ill you look to-day, Mr. Davison ; face flushed 
— veins swelled — oh, those horrid truffles ! Miss Trafford, 
I’ll trouble you for the salt.” 

* Most of the quotations from Latin or French authors, inter- 
spersed throughout this work, will be translated for the convenience 
of the general reader; but exceptions will be made, where such 
quotations (as is sometimes the case when from the mouth of Lord 
Vincent) merely contain a play upon words, which are pointless, 
out of the language employed, or which only iterate or illustrate, 
oy a characteristic pedantry, the sentence that precedes or follows 
them 


ADVENTURES OE A GENTLEMAN. 


49 


CHAPTER Y. 

Be she fairer than the day, 

Or the flowery meads in May; 

If she be not so to me, 

What care I how fair she be ? 

George Withers. 

It was great pity, so it was, 

That villanous saltpetre should be digged 
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 

Which many a good tall fellow had destroy’d. 

First Fart of King Henry IY. 

Several days passed. I had taken particular pains 
to ingratiate myself with Lady Roseville, and, so far as 
common acquaintance went, I had no reason to be dis- 
satisfied with my success. Anything else, I soon dis- 
covered, notwithstanding my vanity, (which made no 
Inconsiderable part in the composition of Henry Pelham) 
was quite out of the question. Her mind was wholly of 
a different mould from my own. She was like a being, 
not perhaps of a better, but of another world than myself : 
w r e had not one thought or opinion in common ; we looked 
upon things with a totally different vision ; I was soon 
convinced that she was of a nature exactly contrary to 
what was generally believed — she was anything but the 
mere mechanical woman of the world. She possessed 
great sensibility, and even romance of temper, strong pas- 
sions, and still stronger imagination ; but over all these 
I.— 5 


D 


60 


PELHAM; OR, 


deeper recesses of her character, the extreme softness and 
languor of her manners threw a veil which no superficial 
observer could penetrate. There were times when I could 
believe that she was inwardly restless and unhappy ; but 
she was too well versed in the art of concealment, to suffer 
such an appearance to be more than momentary. 

I must own that I consoled myself very easily for my 
want, in this particular instance, of that usual good for- 
tune which attends me with the divine sex; the fact was, 
that I had another object in pursuit. All the men at Sir 
Lionel Garrett’s were keen sportsmen. Now, shooting is 
an amusement I was never particularly partial to. I was 
first disgusted with that species of rational recreation at 
a battue , where, instead of bagging anything, I was nearly 
bagged, having been inserted, like wine in an ice-pail, in 
a wet ditch for three hours, during which time my hat 
had been twice shot at for a pheasant, and mv leather 
gaiters once for a hare; and to crown all, when these 
several mistakes were discovered, my intended extermi- 
nators, instead of apologizing for having shot at me, were 
quite disappointed at having missed. 

Seriously, that same shooting is a most barbarous 
amusement, only fit for majors in the army, and royal 
dukes, and that sort of people ; the mere walking is bad 
enough, but embarrassing one’s arms, moreover, with a 
gun, and one’s legs with turnip-tops, exposing oneself to 
the mercy of bad shots and the atrocity of good, seems to 
me only a state of painful fatigue, enlivened by the prob 
ability of being killed. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 51 

This digression is meant to signify, that I never joined 
the single men and double Mantons that went in and off 
among Sir Lionel Garrett’s preserves. I used, instead, to 
take long walks by myself, and found, like virtue, my own 
reward, in the additional health and strength these diurnal 
exertions produced me. 't ■ 

One morning, chance threw into my way a bonne for- 
tune, which I took care to improve. From that time the 
family of a Farmer Sinclair (one of Sir Lionel’s tenants) 
was alarmed by strange and supernatural noises : one 
apartment in especial, occupied by a female member of 
the household, was allowed, even by the clerk of the parish, 
a very bold man, and a bit of a sceptic, to be haunted ; 
the windows of that chamber were wont to open and shut, 
thin airy voices confabulate therein, and dark shapes hover 
thereout , long after the fair occupant had, with the rest 
of the family, retired to repose. But the most unaccount- 
able thing was the fatality which attended me, and seemed 
to mark me out for an untimely death. I, who had so 
carefully kept out of the way of gunpowder as a sports- 
man, very narrowly escaped being twice shot as a ghost. 
This was but a poor reward for a walk more than a mile 
long, in nights by no means of cloudless climes and starry 
skies; accordingly I resolved to “give up the ghost'’ in 
earnest rather than in metaphor, and to pay my last visit 
aad adieus to the mansion of Farmer Sinclair. The night 
on which I executed this resolve, was rather memorable 
in my future history. 

The rain had fallen so heavily during the day, as to 




52 


PELHAM; OR, 


render the road to the house almost impassable, and when 
it was time to leave, I inquired with very considerable 
emotion, whether there was not an easier way to return. 
The answer was satisfactory, and my last nocturnal visit 
at Farmer Sinclair’s concluded. 


CHAPTER TI. 

Why sleeps he not, when others nre at rest? — Byron. 

According to the explanation I had received, the road 
I was now to pursue was somewhat longer, but much 
better, than that which I generally took. It was to lead 

me home through the church-yard of , the same, by- 

the-by, which Lord Vincent had particularized in his 
anecdote of the mysterious stranger. The night was 
clear, but windy : there were a few light clouds passing 
rapidly over the moon, which was at her full, and shone 
through the frosty air, with all that cold and transparent 
brightness so peculiar to our northern winters. I walked 
briskly on till I came to the church-vard ; I could not then 
help pausing (notwithstanding my total deficiency in all 
romance) to look for a few moments at the exceeding 
beauty of the scene around me. The church itself was 
extremely old, and stood alone and grey, in the rude sim- 
plicity of the earliest form of gothic architecture : two 
large dark yew-trees drooped on each side over tombs, 
which, from their size and decorations, appeared to be 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


53 


the last possession of some quondam lords of the soil. 
To the left, the ground was skirted by a thick and luxu- 
riant copse of evergreens, in the front of which stood one 
tall, naked oak, stern and leafless, a very token of desola- 
tion and decay ; there were but few grave-stones scattered 
about, and these were, for the most part, hidden by the 
long wild grass which wreathed and climbed round them. 
Over all, the blue skies and still moon shed that solemn 
light, the effect of which, either on the scene or the feel- 
ings, it is so impossible to describe. 

I was just about to renew my walk, when a tall, dark 
figure, wrapped up like myself, in a large French cloak, 
passed slowly along from the other side of the church, 
and paused by the copse I have before mentioned. I was 
shrouded at that moment from his sight by one of the yew 
trees ; he stood still only for a few moments ; he then 
flung himself upon the earth, and sobbed, audibly, even 
at the spot where I was standing. I was in doubt whether 
to wait longer or to proceed ; my way lay just by him, 
and it might be dangerous to interrupt so substantial an 
apparition. However, my curiosity was excited, and my 
feet were half frozen, two cogent reasons for proceeding; 
and, to say truth, I was never much frightened by any 
thing dead or alive. 

Accordingly I left my obscurity, and walked slowly 
onwards. I had not got above three paees before the 
figure arose, and stood erect and motionless before me 
His hat had fallen off, and the moon shone full upon his 
countenance ; it was not the wild expression of intense 
5 * 


54 


PELHAM; OR, 


anguish which dwelt on those hueless and sunken features, 
nor their quick change to ferocity and defiance, as his eye 
fell upon me, which made me start back and feel my heart 
stand still ! Notwithstanding the fearful ravages graven 
in that countenance, once so brilliant with the graces of 
boyhood, I recognized, at one glance, those still noble 
and striking features. It was Reginald Glanville who 
stood before me I I recovered myself instantly ; I threw 
myself towards him, and called him by his name. He 
turned hastily; but I would not suffer him to escape ; I 
put my hand upon his arm, and drew him towards me. 
“ Glanville 1 ” I exclaimed, “it is I ! it is your old — old 
friend, Henry Pelham. Good Heavens I have I met you 
at last, and in such a scene ? ” 

Glanville shook me from him in an instant, covered his 
face with his hands, and sank down with one wild cry, 
which went fearfully through that still place, upon the 
spot from which he had but just risen. I knelt beside 
him ; I took his hand ; I spoke to him in every endearing 
term that I could think of; and, roused and excited as 
my feelings were, by so strange and sudden a meeting, I 
felt my tears involuntarily falling over the hand which I 
held in my own. Glanville turned ; he looked at me for 
'•ne moment, as if fully to recognize me ; and then throw- 
ng himself in my arms, wept like a child. 

It was but a few minutes that this weakness lasted ; he 
rose suddenly — the whole expression of his countenance 
was changed — the tears still rolled in large drops down 
his cheeks, but the proud, stern character which the fea 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 55 

tures had assumed, seemed to deny the feelings which that 
feminine weakness had betrayed. 

“Pelham,” he said, “ you have seen me thus; I had 
hoped that no living eye would — this is the last time in 
which I shall indulge this folly. God bless you — we shall 
meet again — and this night shall then seem to you like a 
dream.” 

I would have answered, but he turned swiftly, passed 
In one moment through the copse, and in the next had 
disappeared. 


CHAPTER Y II. 

You reach a chilling chamber, where you dread 
Damps. — Crabbe’s Borough 

I could not sleep the whole of that night, and the next 
morning I set off early, with the resolution of discovering 
where Glanville had taken up his abode ; it was evident 
from his having been so frequently seen, that it must be 
in the immediate neighborhood. 

I went first to Farmer Sinclair’s ; they had often re- 
marked him, but could give me no other information. I 
then proceeded towards the coast ; there was a small 
public-house belonging to Sir Lionel close by the sea 
shore ; never had I seen a more bleak and dreary prospect 
than that which stretched for miles around this miserable 
cabin. IIow an innkeeper could live there, is a mystery to 
me at this day — I should have imagined it a spot u*)on 


56 


PELHAM; OR, 

winch anything but a sea-gull or a Scotchman would havo 
starved. 

“ Just the sort of place, however,” thought I, “ to hear 
something of Glanville.” I went into the house; I in- 
quired, and heard that a strange gentleman had beer, 
lodging for the last two or three weeks at a cottage about 
a mile further up the coast. Thither I bent my steps ; 
and after having met two crows, and one officer on the 
preventive service, I arrived safely at my new destination. 

It was a house a little better, in outward appearance, 
than the wretched hut I had just left, for I observe in all 
situations, and in all houses, that “ the public ” is not too 
well served : but the situation was equally lonely and 
desolate. The house itself, which belonged to an indi- 
vidual, half-fisherman and half-smuggler, stood in a sort 
of bay, between two tall, rugged, black cliffs. Before 
the door hung various nets to dry beneath the genial 
warmth of a winter’s sun ; and a broken boat, with its 
keel uppermost, furnished an admirable habitation for a 
hen and her family, who appeared to receive en pension 
an old clerico-bachelor-looking raven. I cast a suspicious 
glance at the last-mentioned personage, which hopped 
towards me with a very hostile appearance, and entered 
the threshold with a more rapid step, in consequence of 
sundry apprehensions of a premeditated assault. 

“I understand,” said I, to an old, dried, brown female, 
who looked like a resuscitated red-herring, “that a gen- 
tleman is lodging here.” 

“ No, sir,” was the answer : “he left us this morning, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 5 1 

The reply came upon me like a shower-bath ; I was 
ooth chilled and stunned by so unexpected a shock. The 
old woman, on my renewing my inquiries, took me up 
stairs, to a small, wretched room, to which the damps 
literally clung. In one corner was a flock-bed, still un- 
made, and opposite to it, a three-legged stool, a chair, and 
an antique carved oak table, a donation perhaps from some 
squire in the neighborhood ; on this last were scattered 
fragments of writing-paper, a cracked cup half full of 
ink, a pen, and a broken ramrod. As I mechanically took 
up the latter, the woman said, in a charming patois, which 
I shall translate, since I cannot do justice to the original : 
— “ The gentleman, sir, said he came here for a few weeks 
to shoot ; he brought a gun, a large dog, and a small 
portmanteau. He stayed nearly a month ; he used to 
spend all the mornings in the fens, though he must have 
been but a poor shot, for he seldom brought home any- 
thing ; and we fear, sir, that he was rather out of his 
mind, for he used to go out alone at night, and stay 
sometimes till morning. However, he was quite quiet, 
and behaved to us like a gentleman ; so it was no business 
of ours, only my husband does think — ” 

“ Pray,” interrupted I, " why did he leave you so sud- 
denly ? ” 

“ Lord, sir, I don’t know ! but he told us for several 
days past that he should not stay over the week, and so 
we were not surprised when he left us this morning at 
seven o’clock. Poor gentleman, my heart bled for him 
when I saw him look so pale and ill.” 


68 


PELHAM*, OR, 


And here I did see the good woman’s e) T es fill with 
tears : but she wiped them away, and took advantage of 
the additional persuasion they gave to her natural whine 
to say, “ If, sir, you know of any young gentleman who 
likes fen-shooting, and wants a nice, pretty, quiet apart- 
ment — ” 

“ I will certainly recommend this,” said I. 

“You see it at present,” rejoined the landlady, “quite 
in a litter like ; but it is really a sweet place in summer.*, 

“ Charming,” said I, with a cold shiver, hurrying down 
the stairs, with a pain in my ear, and the rheumatism in 
my shoulder. 

“And this,” thought I, “was Glanville’s residence for 
nearly a month ! I wonder he did not exhale into a vapor, 
or moisten into a green damp.” 

I went home by the church-yard. I paused on the spot 
where I had last seen him. A small grave-stone rose 
above the mound of earth on which he had thrown him- 
self ; it was perfectly simple. The date of the year and 
month (which showed that many weeks had not elapsed 
since the death of the deceased) and the initials G. D., 
made the sole inscription on the stone. Beside this tomb 
was one of a more pompous description, to the memory 
of a Mrs. Douglas, which had with the simple tumulus 
nothing in common, unless the initial letter of the surname, 
corresponding with the latter initial on the neighboring 
grave-stone, might authorize any connection between them, 
not supported by that similitude of style usually found in 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


59 


the cenotaphs of the same family : the one, indeed, might 
have covered the grave of a humble villager — the other, 
the resting-place of the lady of the manor. 

I found, therefore, no clue for the labyrinth of surmise ; 
and I went home, more vexed and disappointed with ray 
d&y’s expedition than I liked to acknowledge to myself. 

Lord Vincent met me in the hall. “ Delighted to see 

you,” said he; “I have just been to (the nearest 

town), in order to discover what sort of savages abide 
there. Great preparations for a ball — all the tallow 
candles in the town are bespoken — and I heard a most 
uncivilized fiddle, 

‘ Twang short and sharp, like the shrill swallow’s cry.’ 

The one milliner’s shop was full of fat squiresses, buying 
muslin ammunition, to make the hall gooff; and the attics, 
even at four o’clock, were thronged with rubicund damsels, 
who were already, as Shakspeare says of waves in a storm, 

‘ Curling their monstrous heads.’ ” 




60 


PELHAM; OB 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Jusqu’au revoir le ciel vous tieune tons en joie. * — Mol; erb. 

I was now pretty well tired of Garret Park. Lady 
Roseville was going; to H , where I also had an invi- 

tation. Lord Vincent meditated an excursion to Paris. 
Mr. Davison had already departed. Miss Trafford had 
been gone, God knows how long, and I was not at all dis- 
posed to be left, like “the last rose of summer,” in single 
blessedness at Garret Park. Vincent, Wormwood, and 
myself, all agreed to leave on the same day. 

The morning of our departure arrived. We sat down 
to breakfast as usual. Lord Vincent’s carriage was at the 
door ; his groom was walking about his favorite saddle- 
horse. v 

“A beautiful mare that is of your’s,” said I, carelessly 
looking at it, and reaching across the table to help myself 
to the patt de foie gras. 

“ Mare ! ” exclaimed the incorrigible punster, delighted 
with my mistake : “ I thought that you would have been 
better acquainted with your propia quce maribus.” 

“Humph !” said Wormwood, “when I look at you, I 
am always at least reminded of the ‘as in prcesenti ! ’ ” 
Lord Vincent drew' up and looked unutterable anger 


* Heaven keep you merry till we meet again. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 61 

Wormwood went on with his dry toast, and Lady Rose- 
ville, who that morning had, for a wonder, come down to 
breakfast, good-naturedly took off the bear. Whether or 
not his ascetic nature was somewhat modified by the soft 
smiles and softer voice of the beautiful countess, I cannot 
pretend to say ; but he certainly entered into a conversation 
*vith her, not much rougher than that of a less gifted 
individual might have been. They talked of literature.. 
Lord Byron, conversaziones, and Lydia White. * 

“ Miss White,” said Lady Roseville, “ has not only the 
best command of language herself, but she gives language 
to other people. Dinner parties, usually so stupid, are, a 
her house, quite delightful. There, I have actually seen 
English people look happy, and one or two even almost 
natural.” 

“Ah !” said Wormwood, “that is indeed rare. With 
us everything is assumption. We are still exactly like the 
English suitor to Portia, in the Merchant of Venice. We 
take our doublet from one country, our hose from another, 
and our behavior everywhere. Fashion with us is like 
the man in one of Le Sage’s novels, who was constantly 
changing his servants, and yet had but one suit of livery, 
which every new comer, whether he was tall or short, fat 
or thin, was obliged to wear. We adopt manners, however 
incongruous and ill suited to our nature, and thus we 
always seem awkward and constrained. But Lydia White’s 


I. — 6 


* Written before the death of that lady. 


62 


PELHAM) OR, 

soirees are indeed agreeable. I remember the last time I 
dined there, we were six in number, and though we were 
not blessed with the company of Lord Vincent, the con- 
versation was without ‘let or flaw.’ Every one, even 

S- , said good things.” 

“ Indeed ! ” cried Lord Vincent, “ and pray, Mr. Worm- 
wood, what did you say ? ” 

“ Why,” answered the poet, glancing with a significant 
sneer over Vincent’s somewhat inelegant person, “ I 
thought of your lordship’s figure, and said — grace ! ” 
il Hem — hem ! — ‘ Gratia malorum tarn infida est quam 
ipsi ,’ as Pliny says,” muttered Lord Vincent, getting up 
hastily, and buttoning his coat. 

I took the opportunity of the ensuing pause to approach 
Lady Roseville, and whisper my adieus. She was kind 
and even warm to me in returning them ; and pressed me, 
with something marvellously like sincerity, to be sure to 
come and see her directly she returned to London. I soon 
discharged the duties of my remaining farewells, and in 
less than half an hour, was more than a mile distant from 
Garrett Park and its inhabitants. I can’t say that for one 
who, like myself, is fond of being made a great deal of, 
there is anything very delightful in those visits into the 
country. It may be all well enough for married people, 
who, from the mere fact of being married, are always 
entitled to certain consideration, put — for instance — into 
a bed-room, a little larger than a dog-kennel, and accom- 
modated with a looking-glass, that does not distort one’s 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


63 


features like a paralytic stroke. But we single men suffer 
a plurality of evils and hardships, in intrusting ourselves 
to the casualties of rural hospitality. We are thrust up 
into any attic repository — exposed to the mercy of rats 
and the incursions of swallows. Our lavations are per- 
formed in a cracked basin, and we are so far removed from 
human assistance that our very bells sink into silence 
before they reach half-way down the stairs. But two days 
before I left Garret Park, I myself saw an enormous mouse 
run away with my shaving soap, without any possible 
means of resisting the aggression. Oh ! the hardships of 
a single man are beyond conception ; and what is worse, 
the very misfortune of being single deprives one of all 
sympathy. “A single man can do this, and a single man 
ought to do that, and a single man may be put here, and 
a single man may be sent there,” are maxims that I have 
been in the habit of hearing constantly inculcated and 
never disputed during my whole life ; and so, from our tare 
and treatment being coarse in all matters, they have at 
last grown to be all matters in course. 


64 


PELHAM; OE, 


V 


CHAPTER IX. 

Therefore to France. — Henry IV. 

I was rejoiced to find myself again in London. I went 
to my father’s house in Grosvenor-sqnare. All the family, 

viz., he and my mother, were down at H ; and despite 

my aversion to the country, I thought I might venture as 

far as Lady ’s for a couple of days. Accordingly, to 

H I went. That is really a noble house — such a hall 

— such a gallery! I found my mother in the drawing- 
room, admiring the picture of his late Majesty. She was 
leaning on the arm of a tall, fair voung man. “ Henrv,^ 
said she (introducing me to him), “ do you remember your 
old school-fellow, Lord George Clinton?” 

“ Perfectly,” said I (though I remembered nothing 
about him), and we shook hands in the most cordial man- 
ner imaginable. By the way, there is no greater bore than 
being called upon to recollect men, with whom one had 
been at school some ten years back. In the first place, 
if they were not in one’s own set, one most likely scarcely 
knew them to speak to ; and, in the second place, if they 
were in one’s own set, they are sure to be entirely opposite 
to the nature we have since acquired : for I scarcely ever 
knew an instance of the companions of one’s boyhood 
being agreeable to the tastes of one’s manhood : — a strong 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


65 


proof of the folly of people, who send their sons to Eton 
and Harrow to form connections ! 

Clinton was on the eve of setting out upon his travels 
His intention was to stay a year at Paris, and he was full 
of the blissful expectations the idea of that city had con- 
jured up. We remained together all the evening, and 
took a prodigious fancy to one another. Long before I 
went to bed, he had perfectly inoculated me with his own 1 
ardor for continental adventures ; and, indeed, I had half 
promised to accompany him. My mother, when I first 
told her of my travelling intentions, was in despair, but 
by degrees she grew reconciled to the idea. 

“Your health will improve by a purer air,” said she, 
“and your pronunciation of French is, at present, any 
thing but correct. Take care of yourself, therefore, my 
dear son, and pray lose no time in engaging Coulon as 
your maitre de danse.” 

My father gave me his blessing, and a cheque on his 
banker. Within three days I had arranged every thing 
with Clinton, and, on the fourth, I returned with him to 
London. Thence we set off to Hover — embarked — dined, 
for the first time in our lives, on French ground — were 
astonished to find so little difference between the two 
countries, and still more so at hearing even the little 
children talk French so well* — proceeded to Abbeville — 
there poor Clinton fell ill : for several days we were de- 
layed in that abominable town, and then Clinton, by the 


* See Addison’s Travels for this idea. 


6 * 


E 


66 


PELHAM; OR, 


advice of the doctors, returned to England. I went back 
with him as far as Dover, and then, impatient at my loss 
of time, took no rest, night or day, till I found myself at 
Paris. 

Young, well-born, tolerably good-looking, and never 
utterly destitute of money, nor grudging whatever enjoy, 
ment it could procure, I entered Paris with the ability and 
the resolution to make the best of those beaux jours which 
so rapidly glide from our possession. 


CHAPTER X. 

Seest thou how gayly my young maister goes? 

Bishop Hall’s Satires. 

Qui vit sans folie, n’est pas si sage qu’il croit.* 

La Rochefoucault. 

I lost no time in presenting my letters of introduction, 
and 4 hey were as quickly acknowledged by invitations to 
balls and dinners. Paris was full to excess, and of a bet- 
ter description of English than those who usually overflow 
that reservoir of the world. My first engagement was to 
dine with Lord and Lady Bennington, who were among 
the very few English intimate in the best French houses. 

On entering Paris I had resolved to set up “ a char- 
acter , ” for I was always of an ambitious nature, and 
desirous of being distinguished from the ordinary herd. 


* Who lives without folly is not so wise as he thinks. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


67 


After various cogitations as to the particular one I should 
assume, I thought nothing appeared more likely to be 
obnoxious to men, and therefore pleasing to women, than 
an egregious coxcomb : accordingly, I arranged my hair 
into ringlets, dressed myself with singular plainness and 
simplicity (a low person, by-the-by, would have done just 
the contrary), and, putting on an air of exceeding lan- 
guor, made my maiden appearance at Lord Bennington’s. 
The party was small, and equally divided between French 
and English : the former had been all emigrants, and the 
conversation was chiefly in our own tongue. 

I was placed, at dinner, next to Miss Paulding, an 
elderly young lady, of some notoriety at Paris, very clever, 
very talkative, and very conceited. A young, pale, ill- 
natured looking man, sat on her left hand j this was Mr 
Aberton. 

“ Dear me ! said Miss Paulding, “ what a pretty chain 
that is of your’s, Mr. Aberton.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Aberton, “ I know it must be pretty, 
for I got it at Breguet’s, with the watch.” (How common 
people always buy their opinions with their goods, and 
regulate the height of the former by the mere price or 
fashion of the latter 1) 

“ Pray, Mr. Pelham,” said Miss Paulding, turning to 
me, “ have you got one of Breguet’s watches yet ? ” 

“ Watch ! ” said I : “ do you think I could ever wear a 
watch ? I know nothing so plebeian. What can any 
one, but a man of business, w’ho has nine hours for his 
counting-nouse and one for his dinner, ever possibly want 


68 


PELHAM; OR, 


to know the time for ? ‘An assignation/ you will say: 
true, but — if a man is worth having, he is surely worth 
waiting for ! ” 

Miss Paulding opened her eyes, and Mr. Aberton his 
mouth. A pretty, lively Frenchwoman opposite (Madame 
d’Anville) laughed, and immediately joined in our con- 
versation, which, on my part, was, during the whole din- 
ner, kept up exactly in the same strain. 

Madame d’Anville was delighted, and Miss Paulding 
astonished. Mr. Aberton muttered to a fat, foolish Lord 
Luscombe, “ What a damnation puppy ! ” — and every one, 

even to old Madame de G s, seemed to consider me 

impertinent enough to become the rage I 

As for me, I was perfectly satisfied with the effect I had 
produced, and I went away the first, in order to give the 
men an opportunity of abusing me ; for whenever the men 
abuse, the women, to support alike their coquetry and the 
conversation, think themselves called upon to defend. 

The next day I rode into the Champs Elysees. I 
always valued myself particularly upon my riding, and my 
horse was both the most fiery and the most beautiful in 
Paris. The first person I saw was Madame d’Anville, 
At that moment I was reining in my horse, and conscious, 
as the wind waved my long curls, that I was looking to 
the very best advantage ; I made my horse bound towards 
her carriage, (which she immediately stopped,) and made 
at once my salutations and my court. 

“ I am going,” said she, “to the Duchesse D ’s this 

evening — it is her night — do come.” 


69 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN 

“ I don’t know her,” said I. 

“Tell me your hotel, and I’ll send you an invitation 
before dinner,” rejoined Madame d’Anville. 

“ I lodge,” said I, “ at the Hotel de , Rue de 

Rivoli, on the second floor at present; next year, I suppose, 
according to the usual gradations in the life of a gargon , 
I shall be on the third : for here the purse and the person 
seem to be playing at see-saw — the latter rises as the 
former descends.” 

We went on conversing for about a quarter of an hour, 
in which I endeavored to make the pretty Frenchwoman 
believe that all the good opinion I possessed of myself the 
day before, I had that morning entirely transferred to her 
account. 

As I rode home I met Mr. Aberton, with three or four 
other men ; with that glaring good-breeding, so peculiar 
to the English, he instantly directed their eyes towards me 
in one mingled and concentrated stare. “ N'importe ,” 

thought I, “they must be devilish clever fellows if they 

# 

can find a single fault either in my horse or myself.” 


10 




PELHAM; OR, 


CHAPTER XI. 

Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses, 

False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false spouses. 

Goldsmith’s Epilogue to the Comedy of the Siatert. 

Madame D’Anyille kept her promise — the invitation 
was duly sent, and accordingly, at half past ten, to the 
Rue d’Anjou I drove. 

The rooms were already full. Lord Bennington was 
standing by the door, and close by him, looking exceed- 
ingly distrait , was my old friend Lord Yincent. They 
both came towards me at the same moment. “ Strive 
not,” thought I, looking at the stately demeanor of the 
one, and the humorous expression of countenance in the 
other — “strive not, Tragedy nor Comedy, to engross a 
Garrick.” I spoke first to Lord Bennington, for 1 knew 
he would be the sooner despatched, and then for the next 
quarter of an hour found myself overflowed with all the 
witticisms poor Lord Yincent had for days been obliged 
\o retain. I made an engagement to dine with him at 
V'ery’s the next day, and then glided off towards Madame 
O’Anville. 

She was surrounded with men, and talking to each with 
that vivacity which, in a Frenchwoman, is so graceful, and 
in an Englishwoman would be so vulgar. Though her 
eyes were not directed towards me, she saw me approach 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 71 

by that instinctive perception which all coquettes possess, 
and suddenly altering her seat, made way for me besido 
her. I did not lose so favorable an opportunity of gaining 
her good graces, and losing those of all the male animals 
around her. I sank down on tin vacant chair and contrived, 
with the most unabashed effrontery, and yet, with the most 
consummate dexterity, to make everything that I said 
pleasing to her, revolting to some one of her attendants. 
Wormwood himself could not have succeeded better. One 
by one they dropped off, and we were left alone among 
the crowd. Then, indeed, I changed the whole tone of 
my conversation. Sentiment succeeded to satire, and the 
pretence of feeling to that of affectation. In short, I was 
so resolved to please that I could scarcely fail to succeed. 

In this main object of the evening I was not however 
solely employed. I should have been very undeserving 
of that character for observation which I flatter myself I 
peculiarly deserve, if I had not, during the three hours I 

stayed at Madame D ’s, conned over every person 

remarkable for any thing, from rank to a riband. The 
Duchesse herself was a fair, pretty, clever woman, with 
manners rather English than French. She was leaning, 
at the time I paid my respects to her, on the arm of an 
Italian count, tolerably well known at Paris. Poor 

0 i! I hear he is since married. He did not 

deserve so heavy a calamity ! 

Sir Henry Millington was close by her, carefully packed 
up in his coat and waistcoat. Certainly, that man is the 
tw*-st padder in Europe. 


72 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ Come and sit by me, Millington, ” cried old Lady 
Oldtown ; “ I have a good story to tell you of the Due 
de 

Sir Henry, with difficulty, turned round his magnificent 
head, and muttered out some unintelligible excuse. The 
fact was, that poor Sir Henry was not that evening made 
to sit down - — he had only his standing up coat on ! Lady 
Oldtown — heaven knows — is easily consoled. She sup- 
plied the place of the baronet with a most superbly mus- 
tachioed German. 

“ Who,” said I, to Madame d’Anville, “ are those pretty 
girls in white, talking with such eagerness to Mr. Aberton 
and Lord Luscombe ? ” 

“ What ! ” said the Frenchwoman, “ have you been ten 
days in Paris and not been introduced to the Miss Carltons ? 
Let me tell you that your reputation among your coun- 
trymen at Paris depends solely upon their verdict.” 

“And upon your favor,” added I. 

“Ah;” said she, “you must have had your origin in 
France ; you have something about you almost Parisian 

“Pray,” said I, (after having duly acknowledged this 
compliment, the very highest that a Frenchwoman can 
bestow,) “ what did you really and candidly think of our 
countrymen during your residence in England ? ” 

“ I will tell you,” answered Madame d’Anville ; “they 
are brave, honest, generous, maisils sont demi-barbares /”* 


*But they arc half-barbarians. 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


73 


CHAPTER XII. 

Pia mater 

Plus quam se sapere, et virtutibus esse priorem 
Vult, et ait prope vera.* — Hoit. Sal. 

Vere ( y ) mihi festus atras 

Eximet curas. — Hoit. Or. 

The next morning I received a letter from my mother. 

‘My dear Henry,” began my affectionate and incompar- 
able parent — 

“ My dear Henry, 

“You have now fairly entered the world, and though 
at your age my advice may be but little followed, my 
experience cannot altogether be useless. I shall, there- 
fore, make no apology for a few precepts, which I trust 
may tend to make you a wiser and a better man. 

“ I hope, in the first place, that you have left your letter 
at the ambassador’s, and that you will not fail to go there 
as often as possible. Pay your court in particular to 
Lady . She is a charming person, universally pop- 

ular, and one of the very few English people to whom 
one may safely be civil. Apropos of English civility, you 
have, I hope, by this time discovered that you have to 

* With sage advice, and many a sober truth, the pious mother 

moulds to shape the youth. Hawke's Paraphrase. 

The application of the second motto rests solely upon an untrans- 
latable play of words. 

I.— 1 


74 PELHAM; OR, 

assume a very different manner with French people from 
that with our own countrymen : with us, the least appear- 
ance of feeling or enthusiasm is certain to be ridiculed 
everywhere ; but in France, you may venture to seem not 
quite devoid of all natural sentiments : indeed, if you affect 
enthusiasm, they will give you credit for genius, and they 
will place all the qualities of the heart to the account of 
the head. You know that in England, if you seem de- 
sirous of a person’s acquaintance, you are sure to lose it ; 
they imagine you have some design upon their wives or 
their dinners ; but in France you can never lose by polite- 
ness ; nobody will call your civility forwardness and 

pushing. If the Princesse de T , and the Duchesse 

de D , ask you to their houses (which indeed they 

will, directly you have left your letters), go there two or 
three times a week, if only for a few minutes in the even- 
ing. It is very hard to be acquainted with great French 
people, but ivhen you are, it is your own fault if you are 
not intimate with them 

“ Most English people have a kind of diffidence and 
scruple at calling in the evening — this is perfectly mis- 
placed : the French are never ashamed of themselves, 
like us, whose persons, families, and houses are never fit 
to be seen, unless they are dressed out for a party. 

“ Don’t imagine that the ease of French manners is at 
all like what we call ease : you must not lounge on your 
chair — nor put your feet upon a stool — nor forget your- 
self for one single moment, when you are talking with 


romen. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 75 

11 You have heard a great deal about the gallantries of 
the French ladies ; but remember that they demand infi- 
nitely greater attention than English women do ; and 
that after a month’s incessant devotion, you may lose 
everything by a moment’s neglect. 

“You will not, my dear son, misinterpret these hints. 
I suppose, of course, that all your liaisons are platonic. 

“Your father is laid up with the gout, and dreadfully 
ill-tempered and peevish ; however, I keep out of the 
way as much as possible. I dined yesterday at Lady 
Roseville’s : she praised you very much, said your man- 
ners were particularly good, and that no one, if he pleased, 
could be at once so brilliantly original, yet so completely 
bon ton. Lord Vincent is, I understand, at Paris ; though 
very tiresome with his learning and Latin, he is exceed- 
ingly clever and much in vogue ; be sure to cultivate his 
acquaintance. 

“ If you are ever at a loss as to the individual character 
of a person you wish to gain, the general knowledge of 
human nature will teach you one infallible specific, — 
flattery ! The quantity and quality may vary according 
to the exact niceties of art; but, in any quantity and in 
any quality, it is more or less acceptable, and therefore 
certain to please. Only never (or at least very rarely) 
flatter when other people, besides the one to be flattered, 
are by ; in that case you offend the rest, and you make 
even your intended dupe ashamed to be pleased. 

“ In general, weak minds think only of others, and yet 
3eem only occupied with themselves ; you , on the contrary, 


1 6 


PELHAM; OR, 


must appear wholly engrossed with those about you, and 
yet never have a single idea which does not terminate in 
yourself : a fool, my dear Henry, flatters himself — a wise 
man flatters the fool. 

“ God bless you, my dear child, take care of your health 
— don’t forget Coulon ; and believe me your most affec- 
tionate mother, “F. P.” 

By the time I had read this letter, and dressed myself 
for the evening, Vincent’s carriage was at the door. I 
hate the affectation of keeping people waiting, and went 
down so quickly that I met his facetious lordship upon 
the stairs. “ Devilish windy,” said I, as we were getting 
into the carriage. 

“Yes,” said Vincent; “but the moral Horace reminds 
us of our remedies as well as our misfortune — 

‘Jam galeam Pallas, et aegida, 

Currusque — parat ’ — 

viz. : * Providence that prepares the gale , gives us also a 
great-coat and a carriage.’” 

We were not long driving to the Palais Royal. Very’s 
was crowded to excess — “A very low set ! ” said Lord 
Vincent, (who, being half a liberal, is of course a thorough 
aristocrat,) looking round at the various English who 
occupied the apartment. 

There was, indeed, a motley congregation ; country 
esquires ; extracts from the universities ; half-pay officers; 
city clerks in frogged coats and mustachios ; two or three 
of a better-looking description, but in reality half swind- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. Y7 

Iers, half gentlemen : all, in short, fit specimens of that 
wandering tribe, which spread over the continent the 
renown and ridicule of good old England. 

“ Gargon, gargon ,” cried a stout gentleman, who made 
one of three at the table next to us, “Donnez-nous une 
sole frite pour un , et des pommes de terre pour trois ! ” 
“ Humph ! ” said Lord Yincent ; “ fine ideas of English 
taste these gargons must entertain ; men who prefer fried 
soles and potatoes to the various delicacies they can 
command here, might, by the same perversion of taste, 
prefer Bloomfield’s poems to Byron’s. Delicate taste 
depends solely upon the physical construction ; and a 
man who has it not in cookery, must want it in literature. 
Fried sole and potatoes! ! If I had written a volume, 
whose merit was in elegance, I would not show it to such 
a man ! — but he might be an admirable critic upon ‘ Cob- 
bett’s Register,’ or ‘Every Man his own brewer.’” 

“ Excessively true,” said I ; “ what shall we order ? ” 
“D'abord, des huitres d' Ostende,” said Yincent; “as 
to the rest,” taking hold of the carte, “ deliberare utilia 
mora utillissima est.” * 

We were soon engaged in all the pleasures and pair.s 
of a dinner. 

“ Petimus ,” said Lord Yincent, helping himself to some 

poulet & VAusterlitz , “ petimus bene vivere, quod 

pet is, hie est f ” f 


* To deliberate on things useful is the most useful delay, 
j- We seek to live well — what you seek is here. 

1 * 


T8 PELHAM; OR, 

We were not, however, assured of that fact at the ter- 
mination of dinner. If half the dishes were well conceived 
and better executed, the other half were proportionably 
bad. Very is, indeed, no longer the prince of restaura- 
teurs. The low English who have flocked thither, have 
entirely ruined the place. What waiter — what cook can 
possibly respect men who take no soup, and begin with a 
roli] who know neither what is good nor what is bad ; 
who eat rognons at dinner instead of at breakfast, and 
fall into raptures over sauce Robert and pieds de cochon ; 
who cannot tell, at the first taste, whether the beaune is 
premiere qualite, or the fricassee made of yesterday’s 
chicken ; who suffer in the stomach after a champignon , 
and die with indigestion of a truffle ? 0 ! English peo- 

ple, English people ! why can you not stay and perish 
of apoplexy and Yorkshire pudding at home ? 

By the time we had drunk our coffee it was considerably 
past nine o’clock, and Vincent had business at the am- 
bassador’s before ten ; we therefore parted for the night. 

“ What do you think of Very’s ?” said I, as we were 
at the door. 

“Why,” replied Vincent, “when I recall the astonish- 
ing heat of the place, which has almost sent me to sleep ; 
the exceeding number of times in which that becasse had 
been re-roasted, and the extortionate length of our bills, 
I say of Very’s, what Hamlet said of the world, 'Weary, 
stale, and unprof table ! ’ 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 79 


CHAPTER XIII. 

I would fight with proad swords, and sink point on the first plood 
drawn like gentleman’s . — The Chronicles of the Canongale. 

I strolled idly along the Palais Royal (which English 
people, in some silly proverb, call the capital of Paris, 
whereas no French man of any rank, nor French woman 
of any respectability, is ever seen in its promenades) till, 
being somewhat curious to enter some of the smaller cafes, 
I went into one of the meanest of them, took up a Jour- 
nal des Spectacles, and called for some lemonade. At the 
next table to me sat two or three Frenchmen, evidently 
of inferior rank, and talking very loudly over England 
and the English. Their attention was soon fixed upon 
me. 

Have you ever observed that if people are disposed to 
think ill of you, nothing so soon determines them to do 
so as any act of yours, which, however innocent and 
inoffensive, differs from their ordinary habits and customs ? 
No sooner had my lemonade made its appearance, than I 
perceived an increased sensation among my neighbors of 
the next table. In the first place, lemonade is not much 
drunk, as you may suppose, amoug the French in winter; 
and, in the second, my beverage had an appearance of 
ostentation, from being one of the dearest articles I could 
have called for. Unhappily I dropped my newspaper — • 


80 


PELHAM; OB, 


it fell under the Frenchmen’s table ; instead of calling the 
gargon, I was foolish enough to stoop for it myself. It 
was exactly under the feet of one of the Frenchmen ; I 
asked him with the greatest civility, to move : he made 
no reply. I could not, for the life of me, refrain from 
giving him a slight, very slight push ; the next moment 
he moved in good earnest ; the whole party sprung up as 
he set the example. The offended leg gave three terrific 
stamps upon the ground, and I was immediately assailed 
by a whole volley of unintelligible abuse. At that time 
I was very little accustomed to French vehemence, and 
perfectly unable to reply to the vituperations I received. 

Instead of answering them, I therefore deliberated 
what was best to be done. If, thought I, I walk away, 
they will think me a coward, and insult me in the streets ; 
if I challenge them, I shall have to fight with men proba- 
bly no better than shopkeepers ; if I strike this most 
noisy amongst them, he may be silenced, or he may de- 
mand satisfaction : if the former, well and good ; if the 
latter, why I shall have a better excuse for fighting him 
than I should have now. 

My resolution was therefore taken. I was never more 
free from passion in my life, and it was, therefore, with 
the utmost calmness and composure that, in the midst of 
my antagonist’s harangue, I raised my hand and — quietly 
knocked him down. 

He rose in a moment. “ Sortons ,” said he, in a low 
tone, “a Frenchman never forgives a blow P 

At that moment, an Englishman, who had been sitting 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


81 


unnoticed in an obscure corner of the cafe , came up and 
took me aside. 

“ Sir,” said he, “ don’t think of fighting the man ; he 
is a tradesman in the Hue St. Honore. I myself have 
seen him behind the counter ; remember that ‘ a ram may 
tall a butcher.'” 

“ Sir,” I replied, “ I thank you a thousand times for 
y .)ur information. Fight, however, I must, and I’ll give 
you, like the Irishman, my reasons afterwards : perhaps 
you will be my second. 

“With pleasure,” said the Englishman (a Frenchman 
would have said, “with pain!”) 

We left the cafe together. My countryman asked them 
if he should go to the gunsmith’s for the pistols. 

“ Pistols ! ” said the Frenchman’s second ; “ we will 
only fight with swords.” 

“ No, no,” said my new friend. 1 On ne prend pas le 
lievre au tambourind We are the challenged, and there- 
fore have the choice of weapons.” 

Luckily I overheard this dispute, and called to my 
second — “Swords or pistols,” said I; “it is quite the 
same to me. I am not bad at either, only do make haste.” 

Swords, then, were chosen, and soon procured. French- 
men never grow cool upon their quarrels : and as it was 
a fine, clear, star-light night, we went forthwith to the 
Bois de Boulogne. We fixed our ground on a spot 
tolerably retired, and, I should think, pretty often fre* 
quented for the same purpose. I was exceedingly confi- 
dent, for I knew myself to have few equals in the art of 

F 


82 


PELHAM; OR, 

fencing ; and I bad all the advantage of coolness, which 
my hero was a great deal too much in earnest to possess. 
We joined swords, and in a very.few moments I discovered 
that my opponent’s life was at my disposal. 

“ C'est bien ,” thought I ; “for once I’ll behave hand- 
somely.” 

The Frenchman made a desperate lunge. I struck his 
sword from his hand, caught it instantly, and, presenting 
it to him again, said — 

“ I think myself peculiarly fortunate that I may now 
apologize for the affront I have put upon you. Will 
you permit my sincerest apologies to suffice ? A man 
who can so well resent an injury, can forgive one.” 

Was there ever a Frenchman not taken by a fine phrase ? 
My hero received the sword with a low bow — the tears 
came into his eyes. 

“Sir,” said he, “you have twice conquered.” 

We left the spot with the greatest amity and affection, 
and re-entered, with a profusion of bows, our several 
fiacres. 

“ Let me,” I said, when I found myself alone with my 
second, “ let me thank you most cordially for your assist- 
ance ; and allow me to cultivate an acquaintance so sin- 
gularly begun. I lodge at the Hotel de , Rue de 

Rivoli ; my name is Pelham. Yours is — ” 

“Thornton,” replied my countryman. “I will lose no 
time in profiting by an offer of acquaintance which does 
me so much honor.” 

With these and various other fine speeches, we employed 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


83 


the time till I was set down at my hotel ; and my com- 
panion, drawing his cloak round him, departed on foot, 
to fulfil (he seid,with a mysterious air) a certain assigna- 
tion in the Faubourg St. Germain. 


CHAPTER XI Y. 

Erat homo ingcniosus, acutus, acer, et qui plurimum et sails 
haberet et fellis, nec candoris minus.* — ‘J’ ltny. 

I do not know a more difficult character to describe 
than Lord Vincent’s. Did I imitate certain writers, who 
think that the whole art of portraying individual character 
is to seize hold of some prominent peculiarity and to 
introduce this distinguishing trait, in all times and in all 
scenes, the difficulty would be removed. I should only 
have to present to the reader a man, whose conversation 
was nothing but alternate jest and quotation — a due union 
of Yorick and Partridge. This would, however, be ren 
dering great injustice to the character I wish to delineate. 
There were times when Vincent was earnestly engrossed 
in discussion in which a jest rarely escaped him, and quo- 
tation was introduced only as a serious illustration, not 
as a humorous peculiarity. He possessed great miscel- 
laneous erudition, and a memory perfectly surprising for 
its fidelity and extent. He was a severe critic, and had 

* “ He was a clever and able man — acute, sharp — with abundance 
tf wit an* no less of candor. — Cooke. 


84 


PELHAM; OR, 


a peculiar art of quoting from each author he reviewed, 
some part that particularly told against him. Like most 
men, if in the theory of philosophy he was tolerably rigid, 
in its practice he was more than tolerably loose. By hi? 
tenets you would have considered him a very Cato for 
stubbornness and sternness : yet was he a very child in 
his concession to the whim of the moment. Fond of med- 
itation and research, he was still fonder of mirth and 
amusement ; and while he was among the most instructive, 
he was also the boonest, of companions. When alone 
with me, or with men whom he imagined like me, his 
pedantry (for more or less, he always was pedantic) took 
only a jocular tone ; with the savant or the bel esprit, it 
became grave, searching, and sarcastic. He was rather a 
contradicter than a favorer of ordinary opinions : and this, 
perhaps, led him not unoften into paradox : yet was there 
much soundness, even in his most vehement notions, and 
the strength of mind which made him think only for him- 
self, was visible in all the productions it created. I have 
hitherto only given his conversation in one of its moods; 
henceforth I shall be just enough occasionally to be dull, 
and to present it sometimes to the reader in a graver tone. 

Buried deep beneath the surface of his character, was 
a hidden, yet a restless ambition : but this was perhaps, 
fit present, a secret even to himself. We know not our 
own characters till time teaches us self-knowledge : if we 
are wise, we may thank ourselves ; if we are great, we 
must thank fortune. 

It was this insight into Vincent’s nature which drew ua 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 85 

closer together. I recognized in the man, who as yet was 
playing a part, a resemblance to myself, while he, perhaps, 
saw at times that I was somewhat better than the volup- 
tuary, and somewhat wiser than the coxcomb, which were 
all that at present it suited me to appear. 

In person, Yincent was short, and ungracefully formed 
* — but his countenance was singularly fine. His eyes were 
dark, bright and penetrating, and his forehead (high and 
thoughtful) corrected the playful smile of his mouth, which 
might otherwise have given to his features too great an 
expression of levity. He was not positively ill-dressed, 
yet he paid no attention to any external art, except clean- 
liness. His usual garb was a brown coat, much too large 
for him, a colored neckcloth, a spotted waist-coat, grey 
trowsers, and short gaiters : add to these gloves of most 
unsullied doe-skin, and a curiously thick cane, and the 
portrait is complete. 

In manners, he was civil or rude, familiar, or distant, just 
as the whim seized him ; never was there any address less 
common, and less artificial. What a rare gift, by-the-by, 
is that of manners! how difficult to define — how much 
more difficult to impart ! Better for a man to possess them, 
than wealth, beauty, or even talent, if it fall short of 
genius — they will more than supply all. He who enjoys 
their advantages in the highest degree ; viz., he who can 
please, penetrate, persuade, as the object may require, 
possesses the subtlest secret of the diplomatist and the 
statesman, and wants nothing but luck and opportunity to 
become “great.” 

I . —8 


80 


PELHAM; OB, 


CHAPTER XT. 

Le plaisir de la soci^td entre les amis se cultive par une ressem- 
blance de gout sur ce qui regarde les moeurs, et par quelque difference 
d’opinions sur les sciences ; par la ou l’on s’affermit dans ses 
sentiments, ou l’on s’exerce et Ton s’intruit par la dispute.* — La 
Bruyere. 

There was a party at Monsieur de Y e’s, to 

which Vincent and myself were the only Englishmen 
invited : accordingly, as the Hotel de Y. was in the same 
street as my hotel, we dined together at my rooms, and 
walked thence to the minister’s house. 

The party was as stiff and formal as such assemblies 
invariably are, and we were both delighted when we espied 
Monsieur d’A— , a man of much. conversational talent, 
and some celebrity as an ultra writer, forming a little group 
in one corner of the room. 

We took advantage of our acquaintance with the urbane 
Frenchman to join his party ; the conversation turned 
almost entirely on literary subjects. Allusion being made 
to Schlegel’s History of Literature, and the severity with 
which he speaks of Helvetius, and the philosophers of his 

* The pleasure of society amongst friends is cultivated by resem- 
blance of taste as to manners, but some difference of opinion a a 
to mental acquisitions. Thus while it is confirmed by congeniality 
of sentiments, it gains exercise and instruction by intellectual 
discussion. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 87 

school, we began to discuss what harm the freethinkers in 
philosophy had effected. 

“For my part,” said Yincent, “ I am not able to divine 
why we are supposed, in works where there is much truth, 
and little falsehood, much good, and a little evil, to see only 
the evil and the falsehood, to the utter exclusion of the 
truth and the good. All men whose minds are sufficiently 
laborious or acute to love the reading of metaphysical 
inquiries, will by the same labor and acuteness separate 
the chaff from the corn — the false from the true. It is 
the young, the light, the superficial, who are easily misled 
by error, and incapable of discerning its fallacy ; but tell 
me if it is the light, the young, the superficial, who are in 
the habit of reading the abstruse and subtle speculations 
of the philosopher. No, no ! believe me that it is the very 
studies Monsieur S elite gel recommends which do harm to 
morality and virtue; it is the study of literature itself , 
the play, the poem, the novel, which all minds, however 
frivolous, can enjoy and understand, that constitute the 
real foes of religion and moral improvement.” 

“ Ma foif cried Monsieur de G., (who was a little 
writer, and a great reader, of romances,) “ why you would 
not deprive us of the politer literature — you would not 
bid us shut up our novels, and burn our theatres ! }f 

“ Certainly not ! ” replied Yincent ; “ and it i» in this 
particular that I differ from certain modern philosophers of 
our own country, for whom, for the most part, I entertain 
the highest veneration. I would not deprive life of a single 
grace, or a single enjoyment; but I would counteract 


88 


PELHAM; OR, 


whatever is pernicious in whatever is elegant : if among 
my flowers there is a snake, I would not root up my flowers, 
I would kill the snake. Thus, who are they that derive 
from fiction and literature a prejudicial effect? We have 
seen already — the light and superficial ? — but who are 
they that derive profit from them ? — they who enjoy well 
regulated and discerning minds; who pleasure? — all 
mankind! Would it not therefore be better, instead of 
depriving some of profit, and all of pleasure, by banishing 
poetry and fiction from our Utopia, to correct the minds 
which find evil, where, if they were properly instructed, 
they would find good ? Whether we agree with Helvetius, 
that all men are born with an equal capacity of improve- 
ment, or merely go the length with all other metaphysicians, 
that education can improve the human mind to an extent 
yet incalculable, it must be quite clear, that we can give 
sound views, instead of fallacies, and make common truths 
as easy to discern and adopt as common errors. But if 
we effect this, which we all allow is so easy, with our 
children; if we strengthen their minds, instead of weakening 
them, and clear their vision, rather than confuse it, from 
that moment, we remove the prejudicial effects of fiction, 
and just as we have taught them to use a knife, without 
cutting their fingers, we teach them to make use of fiction 
without perverting it to their prejudice. What philosopher 
was ever hurt by reading the novels of L * * *, or seeing 
the comedies of Moliere ? You understand me, then. 
Monsieur de G., I do, it is true, think that polite literature 
(as it is termed) is prejudicial to the superficial, but, for 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 83 

that reason, I would not do away with the literature, I 
would do away with the superficial. ” 

“ I deny,” said M. d’A , “ that this is so easy a 

task — you cannot make all men wise.” 

“No,” replied Vincent ! “but you can all children , at 
least to a certain extent. Since you cannot deny the 
prodigious effects of education, you must allow that they 
will, at least, give common sense ; for if they cannot do 
this, they can do nothing. Now, common sense is all 
that is necessary to distinguish what is good and evil, 
whether it be in life or in books : but then your education 
must not be that of public teaching and private fooling ; 
you must not counteract the effects of common sense by 
instilling prejudice, or encoraging weakness ; your educa- 
tion may not be carried to the utmost goal, but as far as 
it does go, you must see that the road is clear. Now, for 
instance, with regard to fiction, you must not first, as i& 
done in all modern education, admit the disease, and then 
dose with warm water to expel it : you must not put 
fiction in your child’s hands and not give him a single 
principle to guide his judgment respecting it, till his mind 
has got wedded to the poison, and too weak, by its long 
use, to digest the antidote. No : first fortify his intellect 
by reason, and you may then please his fancy by fiction. 
Do not excite his imagination with love and glory, till 
you can instruct his judgment as to what love and glory 
are. Teach him, in short, to reflect, before you permit 
him full indulgence to imagine .” 

Here there was a pause. Monsieur D’A looked 

8 * 


90 


PELHAM; OR, 


very ill-pleased, and poor Monsieur de G thought 

that somehow or other his romance writing was called into 
question. In order to soothe them, I introduced some 
subject which permitted a little national flattery ; the con- 
versation then turned insensibly on the character of the 
French people. 

“ Never,” said Yincent, “ has there been a character 
more often descibed — never one less understood. You 
have been termed superficial. I think, of all people, that 
you least deserve the accusation. With regard to the few , 
your philosophers, your mathematicians, your men of 
science, are consulted by those of other nations, as some 
of their profoundest authorities. With regard to the many, 
the charge is still more unfounded. Compare your mob, 
whether of gentlemen or plebeians, to those of Germany, 
Italy — even England — and I own, in spite of my na- 
tional prepossessions, that the comparison is infinitely in 
your favor. The country gentleman, the lawyer, the petit 
maitre of England, are proverbially inane and ill-informed. 
With you, the classes of society that answer to those 
respective grades, have much information in literature, 
and often not a little in science. In like manner, your 
tradesmen, and your servants, are of better cultivated and 
less prejudiced minds than those ranks in England. The 
fact is, that all with you pretend to be savans, and this is 
the chief reason why you have been censured as shallow. 
We see your fine gentleman, or your petit bourgeois , give 
himself the airs of a critic or a philosopher ; and because 
ne is neither a Scaliger nor a Newton, we forget that he 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN, 91 

is only the bourgeois or the petit maitre, and brand all 
your philosophers and critics with the censure of super- 
ficiality, which this shallow individual of a shallow order 
may justly have deserved. We, the English, it is true, do 
not expose ourselves thus : our dandies, our tradesmen, do 
not vent second-rate philosophy on the human mind, nor 
on les beaux arts: but why is this? Not because they 
are better informed than their correspondent ciphers in 
France, but because they are much worse informed ; not 
because they can say a great deal more on the subject, but 
because they can say nothing at all.” 

“You do us more than justice,” said Mons. d’A , 

“in this instance: are you disposed to do us justice in 
another ? It is a favorite propensity of your countrymen 
to accuse us of heartlessness and want of feeling. Think 
you that this accusation is deserved ? ” 

“ By no means,” replied Yincent. “ The same cause 
that brought on you the erroneous censure we have before 
mentioned, appears to me also to have created this ; viz., 
a sort of Palais Royal vanity, common to all your nation, 
which induces you to make as much display at the shop 
window as possible. You show great cordiality, and even 
enthusiasm, to strangers : you turn your back on them — 
you forget them. ‘ How heartless 1 ’ cry we. Not at all ! 
The English show no cordiality, no enthusiasm to strangers, 
it is true : but they equally turn their backs on them, and 
equally forget them ! The only respect, therefore, in which 
they differ from you, is the previous kindness : now if we 
are to receive strangers, I can really see no reason why 


92 


/ 

PELHAM; OR, 

we are not to oe as civil to them as possible ; and so far 
from imputing the desire to please them to a bad heart, I 
think it a thousand times more amiable and benevolent 
than telling them & VAnglaise, by your morosity and 
reserve, that you do not care a pin what becomes of them. 
If I am only to walk a mile with a man, why should I not 
make that mile as pleasant to him as I can ? or why, above 
all, if I choose to be sulky, and tell him to go and be d — d, 
am I to swell out my chest, color with conscious virtue, 
and cry, See what a good heart I have ? * Ah, Monsieur 
d’A , since benevolence is inseparable from all moral- 

ity, it must be clear that there is a benevolence in little 
things as well as in great, and that he who strives to make 
his fellow-creatures happy, though only for an instant, is a 
much better man than he who is indifferent to, or (what 
is worse) despises it. Nor do I, to say truth, see that 
kindness to an acquaintance is at all destructive to sincerity 
to a friend ; on the contrary, I have yet to learn, that you 
are (according to the customs of your country) worse 
friends, worse husbands, or worse fathers, than we are 1 ” 
“ What 1 ” cried I, “ you forget yourself, Vincent. How 
can the private virtues be cultivated without a coal fire ? 
Is not domestic affection a synonymous term with domestic 
hearth ? and where do you find either, except in honest 
old England ? ” 


* Mr. Pelham, it will be remembered, has prevised the reader, 
that Lord Vincent was somewhat addicted to paradox. His opinions 
on the French character are to be taken with a certain reserve, — 
Author. 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


“ True,” replied Vincent ; “ and it is certainly impossible 
for a father and his family to be as fond of each other on 
a bright day in the Tuileries, or at Versailles , with music 
and dancing, and fresh air, as they would be in a back 
parlor, by a smoky hearth, occupied entirely by le bon 
pere, et la bonne mere; while the poor little children sit 
at the other end of the table, whispering and shivering, 
debarred the vent of all natural spirits, for fear of making 
a noise : and strangely uniting the idea of the domestic 
hearth with that of a hob goblin, and the association of 
dear papa with that of a birch rod.” 

We all laughed at this reply, and Monsieur d’A , 

rising to depart, said, “Well, well, milord, your country- 
men are great generalizes in philosophy ; they reduce 
human actions to two grand touchstones. All hilarity, 
they consider the sign of a shallow mind ; and all kindness, 
the t}ken of a false heart.” 


94 


PELHAMJ OR, 


CHAPTER XYI. 

Quis sapiens bono 

Confidat fragili?* — Seneca. 

Grammatici certant, et adhuc subjudice lis est.j- — Hor. 

When I first went to Paris, I took a French master to 
perfect me in the Parisian pronunciation. This “ Haber- 
dasher of pronouns ” was a person of the name of Margot. 
He was a tall, solemn man, with a face of the most imper- 
turbable gravity. He would have been inestimable as an 
undertaker. His hair was of a pale yellow ; you would 
have thought it had caught a bilious complaint from his 
complexion ; the latter was, indeed, of so sombre a saffron, 
that it looked as if ten livers had been forced into a jaundice, 
in order to supply its color. His forehead was high, bald, 
and very narrow. His cheek-bones were extremely promi- 
nent, and his cheeks so thin, that they seemed happier than 
Pyramus and Thisbe, and kissed each other inside without 
any separation or division. His face was as sharp and 
almost as long as an inverted pyramid, and was garnished 
on either side by a miserable half-starved whisker, wdiich 
seemed scarcely able to maintain itself amidst the general 

*What wise man confides in the fragile? — Seneca. 
j- Grammarians dispute, and the matter is still under consideration 
&f the judge. — Horace, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


95 


symptoms of atrophy and decay. This charming coun- 
tenance was supported by a figure so long, so straight, so 
shadowy, that you might have taken it for the monument 
in a consumption I 

But the chief characteristic of the man was the utter 
and wonderful gravity I have before spoken of. You could 
no more have coaxed a smile out of his countenance than 
you could out of the poker ; and yet Monsieur Margot 
was by no means a melancholy man. He loved his joke, 
and his wine, and his dinner, just as much as if he had 
been of a fatter frame ; and it was a fine specimen of the 
practical antithesis, to hear a good story, or a jovial 
expression, leap friskily out of that long curved mouth ; it 
was at once a paradox and a bathos — it was the mouse 
coming out of its hole in Ely Cathedral. 

I said that this gravity was M. Margot’s most especial 
characteristic. I forgot; — he had two others equally 
remarkable ; the one was an ardent admiration for the 
chivalrous, the other an ardent admiration for himself. 
Both of these are traits commmon enongh in a Frenchman, 
but in Monsieur Margot their excesses rendered them 
uncommon. He was a most ultra specimen of le chevalier 
amovreux — a mixture of Don Quixote and the Due de 
Lauzun. Whenever he spoke of the present tense, even 
en professeur, he always gave a sigh to the preterite, and 
aI1 anecdote of Bayard ; whenever he conjugated a verb, 
he paused to tell me that the favorite one of his female 
pupils was je t ’ aime. 

In short, he had tales of his own good fortune, and of 


96 


PELHAM; OR, 


other people’s brave exploits, which, without much exag 
geration, were almost as long, and had perhaps as little 
substance, as himself ; but the former was his favorite 
topic : to hear him, one would have imagined that his face, 
in borrowing the sharpness of the needle, had borrowed 
also its attraction; — and then the prettiness of Monsieur 
Margot’s modesty ! 

“It is very extraordinary,” said he, “very extraordi- 
nary, for I have no time to give myself up to those affairs : 
it is not, Monsieur, as if I had your leisure to employ all 
the little preliminary arts of creating la belle passion. 
Non, Monsieur , I go to church, to the play, to the Tuileries, 
for a brief relaxation — and me voilci partout accable with 
my good fortune. I am not handsome, Monsieur, at least, 
not very ; it is true, that I have expression, a certain air 
noble , (my first-cousin, Monsieur, is the Chevalier de 
Margot,) and above all, soul in my physiognomy ; the 
women love soul, Monsieur — something intellectual and 
spiritual always attracts them ; yet my success certainly 
is singular.” 

“Bah! Monsieur” replied I : “with dignity, expres- 
sion, and soul, how could the heart of any Frenchwoman 
resist you? No, you do yourself injustice. It was said 
of Caesar, that he was great without an effort ; much 
more, then, may Monsieur Margot be happy without an 
exertion.” 

“Ah, Monsieur ! ” rejoined the Frenchman, still looking 

“As weak, as earnest, and as gravely out 
As sober Lanesbro’ dancing with the gout.” 




ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 91 

“Ah, Monsieur, there is a depth and truth in your 
remarks, worthy of Montaigne. As it is impossible to 
account for the caprices of women, so it is impossible for 
ourselves to analyze the merit they discover in us ; but, 
Monsieur, hear me — at the house where I lodge there is 
an English lady en pension. Eh bien, Monsieur , you 
guess the rest ; she has taken a caprice for me, and this 
very night she will admit me to her apartment. She is 
very handsome, — Ah qu'elle est belle! une jolie petite 
bouche , *me denture tblouissante , un nez tout a fait grec, 
in fine, quite a bouton de rosed ’ 

I expressed my envy at Monsieur Margot’s good fortune, 
and when he had sufficiently dilated upon it, he withdrew. 
Shortly afterwards Yincent entered — “ I have a dinner 
invitation for both of us to-day,” said he ; “you will come ?” 
“Most ceitainly,” replied I; “but who is the person 
we are to honor ? ’’ 

“A Madame Laurent,” replied Yincent ; “one of those 
ladies only found at Paris, who live upon anything rather 
than their income. She keeps a tolerable table, haunted 
with Poles, Russians, Austrians, and idle Frenchmen, 
peregrines gentis amoenum hospitium. As yet she has 
not the happiness to be acquainted with any Englishmen, 
(though she boards one of our countrywomen) and (as she 
is desirous of making her fortune as soon as possible) 
she is very anxious of having that honor. She has heard 
vast reports of our wealth and wisdom, and flatters herself 
that we are so many ambulatory Indies : in good truth, a 
1—9 G 


98 PELHAM; OR, 

Frenchwoman thinks she is never in want of a fortune as 
long as there is a rich fool in the world. 

‘Stultitiam patiuntur opes,* 
is her hope : and 

‘ Ut tu fortunam, sic nos te, Celse, feremus,* 
is her motto.” 

“Madame Laurent!” repeated I, “why, surely that is 
the name of Mons. Margot’s landlady.” 

“I hope not,” cried Vincent, “for the sake of our din- 
ner; he reflects no credit on her good cheer — 

‘Who eats fat dinners, should himself be fat.”’ 

“At all events,” said I, “ we can try the good lady for 
once. I am very anxious to see a countrywoman of ourSt 
probably the very one you speak of, whom Mons. Margot 
eulogizes in glowing colors, and who has, moreover, taken 
a violent fancy for my solemn preceptor. What think 
you of that, Vincent ? ” 

“Nothing extraordinary,” replied Vincent; “the lady 
only exclaims with the moralist — 

‘ Love, virtue, valor, yea, all human charms, 

Are shrunk and centered in that heap of bones. 

Oh! there are 'wondrous beauties in the grave!’” 

I made some punning rejoinder, and we sallied out to 
earn an appetite in the Tuileries for Madame Laurent’s 
dinner 

A t the hour of half-past five we repaired to our engage- 
ment. Madame Laurent received us with the most evident 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


99 


satisfaction, and introduced us forthwith to our coun 
try woman. She was a pretty, fair, shrewd-looking person, 
with an eye and lip, which, unless it greatly belied her, 
Bhowed her much more inclined to be merry and wise, than 
honest and true. 

Presently Monsieur Margot made his appearance. 
Though very much surprised at seeing me, he did not 
appear the least jealous of my attentions to his inamorata. 
Indeed, the good gentleman was far too much pleased 
with himself to be susceptible to the suspicions common 
to less fortunate lovers. At dinner I sat next to the 
pretty Englishwoman, whose name was Green. 

“Monsieur Margot, ” said I, “has often spoken to me 
of you, before I had the happiness of being personally 
convinced how true and unexaggerated were his senti- 
ments. ” 

“Oh 1 ” cried Mrs. Green, with an arch laugh, “you 
are acquainted with Monsieur Margot, then ? ” 

t 

“ I have that honor,” said I. “ I receive from him 
every morning lessons both in love and languages. He 
is perfect master of both.” 

Mrs. Green burst out laughing. 

“Ah, le pauvre professeur ! ” cried she. “He is too 
absurd ! ” 

“ He tells me,” said I gravely, “ that he is quite accable 
with his bonnes fortunes — possibly he flatters himself that 
even you are not perfectly inaccessible to his addresses.” 

“ Tell me, Mr. Pelham,” said the fair Mrs. Green, “ can 
you pass by this street about half-past twelve to-night 


100 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ I will mate a point of doing so,” replied I, not a little 
surprised by the question. 

“Do,” said she, “and now let us talk of old England.” 
When we went away, I told Vincent of my appointment. 
“What!” said he, “eclipse Monsieur Margot! Im- 
possible ! ” 

“ You are right,” replied I, “ nor is it my hope ; there is 
some trick afloat, to which we may as well be spectators.” 
“ With all my heart ! ” answered Vincent ; “ let us go 

till then to the Duchesse de G .” I assented, and we 

drove to the Rue de . 

The Duchesse de G was a fine relic of the ancien 

regime — tall and stately, with her own grey hair crepe , 
and surmounted by a high cap of the most dazzling blonde. 
She had been one of the earliest emigrants, and had stayed 
for many months with my mother, whom she professed to 
rank amongst her dearest friends. The Duchesse possessed 
to perfection that singular melange of ostentation and 
ignorance which was so peculiar to the ante-revolutionists. 
She would talk of the last tragedy with the emphatic tone 
of a connoisseur, in the same breath that she would ask, 
with Marie Antoinette, why the poor people were so 
clamorous for bread , when they might buy such nice cakes 
for twopence a-piece ? “ To give you an idea of the Irish,” 
said she one day to an inquisitive marquess, “know that 
they prefer potatoes to mutton!” 

Her soirees were among the most agreeable at Paris 
— she united all the rank and talent to be found in the 
ultra party, for she professed to be quite a female Mecaenas ; 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 10 ?. 

and whether it was a mathematician or a romance-writer, 
a naturalist or a poet, she held open house for all, and 
conversed with each with equal fluency and self-satisfaction. 

A new play had just been acted, and the conversation^ 
after a few preliminary hoverings, settled upon it. 

“You see,” said the Duchesse, “that we have actors, 
you authors ; of what avail is it that you boast of a 
Shakspeare, since your Liseton, great as he is, cannot bo 
compared with our Talma?” 

“And yet,” said I, preserving my gravity with a perti- 
nacity, which nearly made Vincent and the rest of our 
compatriots assembled lose theirs, “Madame must allow 
that there is a striking resemblance in their persons, and 
the sublimity of their acting ? ” 

“ Pour ga,j'en conviens ,” replied this critique de VEcole 
des Femmes . “ Mais cependant Liseton n'apas la nature , 
Vdme , la grandeur de Talma!”* 

“And will you then allow us no actors of merit?” 
asked Vincent. 

“ Mais oui! — dans le genre comique, par exemple 
votre buffo Kean met dix fois plus d! esprit et de drollerie 
dans ses roles que La Porte.” f 

“ The impartial and profound judgment of Madame 
admits of no further discussion on this point,” said I. 

* I grant that, but Liston, however, has not the nature, the soul, 
the grandeur, of Talma. 

j- Ves, in comedy, for instance, your Kean has ten times mor« 
vivacity and drollery than La Porte. 

ft* 


102 PELHAM; OR, 

“ What does she think of the present state of our dramatic 
literature ? ” 

“Why,” replied Madame, “you have many great poets; 
but when they write for the stage, they lose themselves 
entirely: your Yalter Scote’s play of Robe Roi is very 
inferior to his novel of the same name.” 

“It is a great pity,” said I, “that Byron did not turn 
his Childe Harold into a tragedy — it has so much energy , 
action — variety ! ” 

“Yery true,” said Madame, with a sigh; “but the 
tragedy is, after all, only suited to our nation — we alone 
carry it to perfection.” 

“Yet,” said I, “ Goldoni wrote a few fine tragedies .” 

“ Eh bien f ” said Madame, “ one rose does not constitute 
a garden 1 ” 

And satisfied with this remark, la femme savante turned 
to a celebrated Traveller to discuss with him the chance of 
discovering the North Pole. 

There weio one or two clever Englishmen present; 
Vincent and I joined them. 

“ Have you met the Persian prince yet ? ” said Sir 
George Lynton to me ; “ he is a man of much talent, and 
great desire of knowledge. He intends to publish his 
observations on Paris, and I suppose we shall have an 
admirable supplement to Montesquieu’s Lettres Per - 
sannes ! ” 

“ I wish we had,” said Vincent : “ there are few better 
satires on a civilized country than the observations of 
visitors less polished ; while on the contrary the civilized 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 103 

traveller, in describing the manners of the American 
barbarian, instead of conveying ridicule upon the visited, 
points the sarcasm on the visitor ; and Tacitus could not 
have thought of a finer or nobler satire on the Roman 
luxuries than that insinuated by his treatise on the German 
simplicity. 

“ What,” said Monsieur d’E (an intelligent ci- 

devant emigre ), “ what political writer is generally es- 
teemed as your best ? ” 

“It is difficult to say,” replied Vincent, “since with so 
many parties we have many idols ; but I think I might 
venture to name Bolingbroke as among the most popular. 
Perhaps, indeed, it would be difficult to select a name 
more frequently quoted and discussed than his; and yet 
his political works are not very valuable from political 
knowledge: — they contain many lofty sentiments, and 
many beautiful yet scattered truths ; but they were written 
when legislation, most debated, was least understood, and 
ought to be admired rather as excellent for the day than 
admirable in themselves. The life of Bolingbroke would 
convey ajuster moral than all his writings : and the author 
who gives us a full and impartial memoir of that extraor- 
dinary man, will have afforded both to the philosophical 
and political literature of England one of its greatest 
desiderata.” 

“ It seems to me,” said Monsieur d’E , “that your 

national literature is peculiarly deficient in biography — 
am I right in my opinion ? ” 

“ Indubitably 1 ” said Vincent ; “ we have not a single 


104 


PELHAM; OR, 


work that can be considered a model in biography (ex- 
cepting, perhaps, Middleton’s Life of Cicero). This 
brings on a remark I have often made in distinguishing 
your philosophy from ours. It seems to me that you who 
excel so admirably in biography, memoirs, comedy, satirical 
observation on peculiar classes, and pointed aphorisms, 
are fonder of considering man in his relation to society 
and the active commerce of the world, than in the more 
abstracted and metaphysical operations of the mind. Our 
writers, on the contrary, love to indulge rather in abstruse 
speculations on their species — to regard man in an 
abstract and isolated point of view, and to see him think 
alone in his chamber, while you prefer beholding him act 
with the multitude in the world.” 

“ It must be allowed,” said Monsieur d’E , “that if 

this be true, our philosophy is the most useful, though 
yours may be the most profound.” 

Vincent did not reply. 

“Yet,” said Sir George Lynton, “there will be a dis- 
advantage attending your writings of this description, 
which, by diminishing their general applicability , diminish 
their general utility. Works which treat upon man in hig 
relation to society, can only be strictly applicable so long 
as that relation to society treated upon continues. For 
instance, the play which satirizes a particular class, how- 
ever deep its reflections and accurate its knowledge upon 
the subject satirized, must necessarily be obsolete when 
the class itself has become so. The political pamphlet, 
admirable for one state, may be absurd in another ; tha 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


105 


novel which exactly delineates the present age may seem 
strange and unfamiliar f o the next ; and thus works which 
treat of men relatively, and not man in se, must often con- 
fine their popularity to the age and even the country in 
which they were written. While on the other hand, the 
work which treats of man himself, which seizes, discovers, 
analyzes the human mind, as it is, whether in the ancient 
or the modern, the savage or the European, must evidently 
be applicable, and consequently useful, to all times and all 
nations. He who discovers the circulation of the blood, 
or the origin of ideas, must be a philosopher to every 
people who have veins or ideas ; but he who even most 
successfully delineates the manners of one country, or the 
actions of one individual, is only the philosopher of a 

single country, or a single age. If, Monsieur d’E , 

you will condescend to consider this, you will see perhaps 
that the philosophy which treats of man in his relations 
is not so useful, because neither so permanent nor so in- 
variable, as that which treats of man in himself. ”* ** 

I was now somewhat weary of this conversation, and 
though it was not yet twelve, I seized upon my appoint- 
ment as an excuse to depart — accordingly I rose for that 
purpose. u I suppose,” said I to Yincent, “that you will 
not leave your discussion.” 

“ Pardon me,” said he, “ amusement is quite as profit- 
able to a man of sense as metaphysics. Allons .” 

*Yet Hume holds the contrary opinion to this, and considers a 
good comedy more durable than a system of philosophy. Hume is 

**ight, if by a system of philosophy is understood — a pile of guesses, 


106 


PELHAMJ OR, 


CHAPTER X Y 1 1. 

I was ii this terrible situation when the basket stopped. 

Oriental Tales — History of the Basket. 

We took our way to the street in which Madame Lau- 
rent resided. Meanwhile suffer me to get rid of myself, 
and^to introduce you, dear Reader, to my friend, Monsieur 
Margot, the whole of whose adventures were subsequently 
detailed to me by the garrulous Mrs. Green. 

At the hour appointed he knocked at the door of my 
fair countrywoman, and was carefully admitted. He was 
attired in a dressing-gown of sea-green silk, in which his 
long, lean, hungry body, looked more like a starved pike 
than any thing human. 

“ Madame,” said he, with a solemn air, “ I return you 
my best thanks for the honor you have done me — behold 
me at your feet ! ” — and so saying, the lean lover gravely 
knelt down on one knee. 

“ Rise, sir,” said Mrs. Green, “ I confess that you have 

false but plausible, set up by one age to be destroyed by the next. 
It genuity cannot rescue error from oblivion ; but the moment Wis- 
dom has discovered Truth, she has obtained immortality. — But is 
Hume right when he suggests that there may come a time when 
Addison will be read with delight, but Locke be utterly forgotten ? 
For my part, if the two were to be matched for posterity, I think 
the odds would be in favor of Locke. I very much doubt whether 
five hundred years hence, Addison will be read at all, and I am quite 
sure that, a thousand years hence, Locke will not be forgotten. 


ADVENTURES OE A GENTLEMAN. 107 

won my heart ; but that is not all — you have yet to show 
that you are worthy of tlie opinion I have formed of you. 
It is not, Monsieur Margot, your person that has won 
me — no: it is your chivalrous and noble sentiments — 
prove that these are genuine, and you may command all 
from my admiration.” 

“In what manner shall I prove it, madame?” said 
Monsieur Margot, rising, and gracefully drawing his sea- 
green gown more closely round him. 

“ B 5 your courage, your devotion, and your gallantry t 
I ask but one proof — you can give it me on the spot. 
You remember, monsieur, that in the days of romance, a 
lady threw her glove upon the stage on which a lion was 
exhibited, and told her lover to pick it up. Monsieur 
Margot, the trial to which I shall put you is less severe’.* 
Look, (and Mrs. Green threw open the window) — look, 
I throw my glove out into the street — descend for it.” 
“Your commands are my law,” said the romantic 
Margot. “ I will go forthwith,” and so saying, he w*ent 
to the door. 

“ Hold, sir 1” said the lady, “ it is not by that simple 
manner that you are to descend — you must go the same 
way as my glove, out of the window .” 

“ Out of the window, madame ! ’’said Monsieur Margot, 
with astonished solemnity ; “ that is impossible, because 
this apartment is three stories high, and consequently 1 
shall be dashed to pieces.” 

“By no means,” answered the dame; “in that corner 
of the room tnere is a basket, to which (already foreseeing 


108 


PELHAM; OR, 


your determination) I have affixed a rope ; by that basket 
you shall descend. See, monsieur, what expedient!* a 
provident love can suggest.” 

“ H — e — m ! ” said, very slowly, Monsieur Margot, by 
no means liking the airy voyage imposed upon him ; “but 
the rope may break, or your hand may suffer it to slip.” 

“ Feel the rope,” cried the lady, “ to satisfy you as to 
your first doubt; and, as to the second, can you — can 
you imagine that my affections would not make me twice 
as careful of your person as of my own ? Fie ! ungrateful 
Monsieur Margot ! fie ! ” 

The melancholy chevalier cast a rueful look at the 
basket. “ Madame,” said he, “ I own that I am very 
averse to the plan you propose : suffer me to go down 
stairs in the ordinary way ; your glove can be easily picked 
up whether your adorer goes out of the door or the win- 
dow. It is only, madame, when ordinary means fail, that 
we should have recourse to the extraordinary.” 

“ Begone, sir ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Green — “ begone ! I 
now perceive that your chivalry was only a pretence. 
Fool that I was, to love you as I have done ! — fool that 

I was, to imagine a hero where I now find a ” 

“ Pause, madame, I will obey you — my heart is firm- 

see that the rope is ! ” 

“ Gallant Monsieur Margot ! ” cried the lady : ami 
going to her dressing-room, she called her woman to her 
assistance. The rope was of the most unquestionable 
thickness, the basket of the most capacious dimensions. 


m 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 

The former was fastened to a strong hook — and the latter 
lowered. 

“I go, madame,” said Monsieur Margot, feeling the 
rope ; “but it really is a most dangerous exploit.” 

“ Go, monsieur ! and St. Louis befriend you ! ” 

“ Stop 1 ” said Monsieur Margot, “let me fetch my 
coat : the night is cold, and my dressing-gown thin.” 
“Nay, nay, my chevalier,” returned the dame, “I love 
you in that gown ; it gives you an air of grace and d r g- 
nity quite enchanting.” 

“ It will give me my death of cold, madame,” said 
Monsieur Margot, earnestly. 

“ Bah ! ” said the Englishwoman : “ what knight ever 
feared cold ? Besides, you mistake ; the night is warm, 
and you look so handsome in your gown.” 

“ Do I ! ” said the vain Monsieur Margot, with an iron 
expression of satisfaction. “If that is the case, I will 
mind it less ; but may I return by the door ? ” 

“Yes,” replied the lady; “you see that I do not re- 
quire too much from your devotion — enter.” 

“Behold me!” said the French master, inserting his 
body into the basket, which immediately began to descend. 

The hour and the police of course made the street 
empty ; the lady’s handkerchief waved in token of en- 
couragement and triumph. When the basket was within 
five yards of the ground, Mrs. Green cried to her lover, 
who had hitherto been elevating his serious countenance 
towards her, in sober, yet gallant sadness — 

“Look, look, monsieur — straight before you.” 

I. —10 


110 


PELIIAM; OR, 




The lover turned round, as rapidly as his habits would 
allow him, and at that instant the window was shut, the 
light extinguished, and the basket arrested. There stood 
Monsieur Margot upright in the basket, and there stopped 
the basket, motionless in the air 1 

What were the exact reflections of Monsieur Margot, 
in that position, I cannot pretend to determine, because 
he never favored me with them ; but about an hour after- 
wards, Vincent and I (who had been delayed on the road), 
strolling up the street, according to our appointment, 
perceived, by the dim lamps, some opaque body leaning 
against the wall of Madame Laurent's house, at about the 
distance of fifteen feet from the ground. 

We hastened our steps towards it; a measured and 
serious voice, which I well knew, accosted us — 

“For God’s sake, gentlemen, procure me assistance. 
I am the victim of a perfidious woman, and expect every 
moment to be precipitated to the earth.” 

“ Good heavens ! ” said I, “surely it is Monsieur Mar- 
got whom I hear. What are you doing there ? ” 
.-“Shivering with cold,” answered Monsieur Margot iu 
a tone tremulously slow. 

“But what are you in? for 1 can see nothing but a 
dark substance.” 

“ 1 am in a basket,” replied Monsieur Margot, “ and I 
should be very much obliged to you to let me out of it.” 
“Well — indeed,” said Vincent (for 7 was too much 
engaged in laughing to give a ready reply), “your Cha- 
teau- Margot has but a cool cellar. But there a^e soms 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. Ill 

things in the world easier said than done. How are we 
to remove you to a more desirable place ? ” 

“Ah,” returned Monsieur Margot, “ how indeed ! There 
is, to be sure, a ladder in the porter’s lodge long enough 
to deliver me ; but then, think of the gibes and jeers of 
the porter! — it will get wind — I shall be ridiculed, 
gentlemen — I shall be ridiculed — and what is worse, I 
shall lose my pupils.” 

“My good friend,” said I, “you had better lose your 
pupils than your life ; and the day-light will soon come, 
and then, instead of being ridiculed by the porter, you 
will be ridiculed by the whole street!” 

Monsieur Margot groaned. “ Go, then, my friend,” 
said he, “procure the ladder! Oh, those she devils ! — 
what could make me such a fool ! ” 

Whilst Monsieur Margot was venting his spleen in a 
scarcely articulate mutter, we repaired to the lodge, 
knocked up the porter, communicated the accident , and 
procured the ladder. However, an observant eye had 
been kept upon our proceedings, and the window above 
was re-opened, though so silently that I only perceived 
the action. The porter, a jolly, bluff, hearty-looking fel 
low, stood grinning below with a lantern, while we set the 
ladder (which only just reached the basket) against the 
wall. 

The chevalier looked wistfully forth, and then, by the 
lio-ht of the lantern, we had a fair view of his ridiculous 
figure. His teeth chattered wofully, and the united cold 
without and anxiety within, threw a double sadness and 


112 


PELHAM; OR, 


solemnity upon his withered countenance. The night was 
very windy, and every instant a rapid current seized the 
unhappy sea-green vesture, whirled it in the air, and threw 
it, as if in scorn, over the very face of the miserable pro- 
fessor. The constant recurrence of this sportive irrever- 
ence of the gales — the high sides of the basket, and the 
trembling agitation of the inmate, never too agile, ren- 
dered it a work of some time for Monsieur Margot to 
transfer himself from the basket to the ladder. At length, 
he had fairly got out one thin, shivering leg. 

“Thank Heaven !” said the pious professor — when at 
that instant the thanksgiving was checked, and, to Mon- 
sieur Margot’s inexpressible astonishment and dismay, the 
basket rose five feet from the ladder, leaving its tenant, 
with one leg dangling out, like a flag from a balloon. 

The ascent was too rapid to allow Monsieur Margot 
even time for an exclamation, and it was not till he had 
had sufficient leisure in his present elevation to perceive all 
its consequences, that he found words to say, with the 
most earnest tone of thoughtful lamentation, “ One could 
not have foreseen this ! — it is really extremely distressing 
— would to Heaven that I could get my leg in, or my 
body out ! ” 

While we were yet too convulsed with laughter to make 
any comment upon the unlooked-for ascent of the luminous 
Monsieur Margot, the basket descended with such force 
as to dash the lantern out of the hand of the porter, and 
to bring the professor so precipitately to the ground, that 
all the bones in his skin rattled audibly. 


adventures o e a gentleman. 


113 


11 Mon Dieu /” said be, “I am done for! Be witness 
how inhumanly I have been murdered.” 

We pulled him out of the basket, and carried him 
between us into the porter’s lodge. But the woes of 
Monsieur Margot were not yet at their termination. The 
room was crowded. There was Madame Laurent, — there 
was the German count, whom the professor was teaching 
French — there was the French viscount, whom he was 
teaching German — there were all his fellow-lodgers, the 
ladies whom he had boasted of, the men he had boasted 
to. Don Juan, in the infernal regions, could not have 
met with a more unwelcome set of old acquaintances than 
Monsieur Margot had the happiness of opening his be- 
wildered eyes upon in the porter’s lodge. 

“ What ! ” cried they all, “ Monsieur Margot, is that 
you who have been frightening us so ? We thought the 
house was attacked. The Russian general is at this very 
moment loading his pistols ; lucky for you that you did 
not choose to stay longer in that situation. Pray, mon- 
sieur, what could induce you to exhibit yourself so, in 
your dressing-gown too, and the night so cold ? Ar’rnt 
you ashamed of yourself?” 

All this, and infinitely more, was levelled against the 
miserable professor, who stood shivering with cold and 
fright ; and turning his eyes first on one, and then on 
another, as the exclamations circulated round the room. 

“ I do assure you ” at length he began. 

“No, no,” cried one, “it is of no use explaining now!” 
10 * 


H 


114 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ Mats, Messieurs ” querulously recommenced the 

unhappy Margot. 

“ Hold your tongue,” exclaimed Madame Laurent, ** you 
have been disgracing my house.” 

“ Mais , Madame , ecoutez-moi ” 

No, no,” cried the German, “ we saw you — we saw 
you.” 

“ Mais, Monsieur le Comte ” 

u Fie, fie ! ” cried the Frenchman. 

“Mais, Monsieur le Vicomte ” 

At this every mouth was opened, and the patience of 
Monsieur Margot being by this time exhausted, he flew into 
a violent rage ; his tormentors pretended an equal indig- 
nation, and at length he fought his way out of the room, 
as fast as his shattered bones would allow him, followed 
by tlie*tvhole body, screaming, and shouting, and scolding, 
and^laughing after him. 

The next morning passed without my usual lesson from 
Monsieur Margot ; that was natural enough; but when 
the next day, and the next, rolled on, and brought neither 
Monsieur Margot nor his excuse, I began to be uneasy 
for the poor man. Accordingly I sent to Madame Lau- 
rent’s house to inquire after him : judge of my surprise 
at hearing that he had, early the day after his adventure, 
left his lodgings with his small possession of books and 
clothes, leaving only a note to Madame Laurent, enclos- 
ing the amount of his debt to her, and that none had 
since seen or heard of him. 

From that day to this I have never once beheld him. 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 115 

The poor professor lost even the little money due to him 
for his lessons — so true is it, that in a man of Monsieur 
Magot’s temper, even interest is a subordinate passion U 
vanity 1 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

It is good to be merry and wise, 

It’s good to be honest and true; 

It is good to be off with the old love, 

Before you be on with the new. — Song. 

One morning, when I was riding to the Bois de 
Boulogne , (the celebrated place of assignation), in order 
to meet Madame d’Anville, I saw a lady on horseback, in 
the most imminent danger of being thrown. Her horse 
had taken fright at an English tandem, or its driver, and 
was plunging violently; the lady was evidently much 
frightened, and lost her presence of mind more and more 
every moment. A man who was with her, and who could 
scarcely manage his own horse, appeared to be exceed- 
ingly desirous, but perfectly unable, to assist her; and a 
great number of people were looking on, doing nothing, 
and saying, “ Mon Dieu, how dangerous ! ” 

I have always had a great horror of being a hero in 
scenes, and a still greater antipathy to “females in dis- 
tress .” However, so great is the effect of sympathy upon 
the most hardened of us, that I stopped for a few moments, 
first to look on, and secondly to assist. Just when a 


1 1C 


PELHAM; OR, 


moment’s delay might have been dangerous, I threw 
myself off my horse, seized her’s with one hand, by the 
rein which she no longer had the strength to hold, and 
assisted her with the other to dismount. When all the 
peril was over, Monsieur, her companion, managed also 
to find his legs ; and I did not, I confess, wonder at his 
previous delay, when I discovered that the lady in danger 
had been his wife. He gave me a profusion of thanks, 
and she made them more than complimentary by the glance 
which accompanied them. Their carriage was in attend- 
ance at a short distance behind. The husband w r ent for 
it — I remained with the lady. 

“ Mr. Pelham,” she said, “ I have heard much of you 
from my friend Madame d’Anville, and have long been 
anxious for your acquaintance. I did not think I should 
commence it with so great an obligation.” 

Flattered by being already known by name, and a sub- 
ject of previous interest, you may be sure that I tried 
every method to improve the opportunity I had gained ; 
and when I handed my new acquaintance into her carriage, 
my pressure of her hand was somewhat more than slightly 
returned. 

“ Shall you be at the English ambassador’s to-night ? n 
said the lady, as they were about to shut the door of the 
carriage. 

“ Certainly, if you are to be there,” was my answer. 

“We shall meet then,” said Madame, and her look said 
more. 

I rode into the Bois ; and giving my horse to ray ser- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. Ill 

vant, as I came near Passy, where I was to meet Ma- 
dame d’Anville, I proceeded thither on foot. I was just 
in sigrht of the spot, and indeed of my inamorata, when 
two men passed, talking very earnestly ; they did not 
remark me, but what individual could ever escape my 
notice ? The one was Thornton ; the other — who could 
he be ? Where had I seen that pale and remarkable 
countenance before ? I looked again. I was satisfied 
that I was mistaken in my first thought ; the hair was of 
a completely different color. “ No, no,” said I, “it is not 
he: yet how like!” 

I was distrait and absent during the whole time I was 
with Madame d’Anville. The face of Thornton’s com- 
panion haunted me like a dream ; and, to say the truth, 
there were also moments when the recollection of my new 
engagement for the evening made me tired with that which 
I was enjoying the troublesome honor of keeping. 

Madame d’Anville was not slow in perceiving the cold- 
ness of my behavior. Though a Frenchwoman, she was 
rather grieved than resentful. 

“ You are growing tired of me, my friend,” she said ; 
“ and when I consider your youth and temptations, I 
cannot be surprised at it — yet, I own, that this thought 
gives me much greater pain than I could have supposed.” 

“ Bah ! ma belle amie ,” cried I, “you deceive yourself 
. — I adore you — I shall always adore you ; but it’s get- 
ting very late ! ” 

Madame d’Anville sighed, and we parted. “She is 
not half so pretty or agreeable as she was,” thought I, as 


H8 PELIIAM; OR, 

I mounted my horse, and remembered my appointment at 
the ambassador’s. 

I took unusual pains with my appearance that evening, 
and drove to the ambassador’s hotel in the Rue Faubourg 
St. Honore, full half an hour earlier than I had ever done 
before. I had been some time in the rooms without dis- 
covering my heroine of the morning. The Duchess of 

II n passed by. 

“ What a wonderfully beautiful woman 1 ” said Mr. 
Howard de Howard, a lean gentleman, who valued him- 
self on his ancestors, to Mr. Aberton. 

“Ay,” answered Aberton, “but to my taste, the Duch- 
esse de Perpignan is quite equal to her — do you know 
herV' > 

“ No — yes ! ” said Mr. Howard de Howard ; “ that is, 
not exactly — not well.” An Englishman never owns 
that he does not know a duchess. 

“ Hem I ” said Mr. Aberton, thrusting his large hand 
through his lank light hair. “ Hem — could one do any 
thing, do you think, in that quarter ? ” 

“ I should think one might, with a tolerable person ! ” 
answered the spectral aristocrat, looking down at a pair 
of most shadowy supporters. 

“Pray,” said Aberton, “what do you think of Miss 
? they say she is an heiress.” 

“Think of her!” said Mr. Howard de Howard, who 
cas as poor as he was thin, “ why, I have thought of her ! ” 

“They say that fool Pelham makes up to her.” (Little 


ADVENT USES OF A GENTLEMAN. 119 

did Mr. Aberton imagine, when he made this remark, that 
I was close behind him.) 

“I should not imagine that was true,” said the secre- 
tary; “he is so occupied with Madame d’Anville.” 
“Pooh!” said Aberton, dictatorially, 11 she never had 
any thing to say to him.” 

“ Why are you so sure ? ” said Mr. Howard de Howard. 
“ Why — because he never showed any notes from her, 
nor ever even said he had a liaison with her ! ” 

“Ah ! that is quite enough ! ” said Mr. Howard de 
Howard. “ But, is not that the Duchesse de Perpignan ? ” 
Mr. Aberton turned, and so did I — our eyes met — his 
fell — well they might, after his courteous epithet to my 
name ; however, I had far too good an opinion of myself 
to care one straw about his ; besides, at that moment, I 
was wholly lost in my surprise and pleasure, in finding 
that this Duchesse de Perpignan was no other than my 
acquaintance of the morning. She caught my gaze and 
smiled as she bowed. “ Now,” thought I, as I approached 
her, “let us see if we cannot eclipse Mr. Aberton.” 

All love-making is just the same, and, therefore, I shall 
spare the reader my conversation that evening. When 
he recollects that it was Henry Pelham who was the 
gallant, I am persuaded that he will be pretty certain as 
to the success. 


PELHAM; OB, 


1*0 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Alea sequa vorax species certissima furti 

Non contenta bonis, animum quoque perfida mergit: — 

Furca, furax — infamis, iners, furiosa, ruina.* — Petr. Dial 

I dined the next day at the Freres Proven£aux ; an 
excellent restaurateur’s, by-the-by, where one gets irre- 
proachable gibier, and meets few English, f After dinner, 
I strolled into the various gambling-houses, with which 
the Palais Royal abounds. 

In one of these the crowd and heat were so great, that 
I should immediately have retired if I had not been struck 
with the intense expression of interest in the countenance 
of one of the spectators at the rouge et noir table. He 
was a man about forty years of age ; his complexion was 
dark and sallow ; the features prominent, and what are 
generally called handsome ; but there was a certain sinis- 
ter expression in his eyes and mouth, which rendered the 
effect of his physiognomy rather disagreeable than pre- 
possessing. At a small distance from him, and playing, 

* Gaming, that direst felon of the breast, 

Steals more than fortune from its wretched thrall, 

Spreads o’er the soul the inert devouring pest, 

And gnaws, and rots, and taints, and ruins all. — Paraphrase. 

•j-Mr. Pelham could not say as much for the Frlres Provenp.mx 
at present! 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. I2l 


with an air which, in its carelessness and nonchalance , 
formed a remarkable contrast to the painful anxiety of 
the man I have just described, sate Mr. Thornton. 

At first sight, these two appeared to be the only 
Englishmen present beside myself; I was more struck by 
seeing the former in that scene than I was at meeting 
Thornton there ; for there was something distinguished 
in the mien of the stranger, which suited far worse with 
the appearance of the place, than the air and dress of my 
ci-devant second. 

“ What 1 another Englishman ? ” thought I, as I turned 
round and perceived a thick, rough great-coat, which 
could possibly belong to no continental shoulders. The 
wearer was standing directly opposite the seat of the 
swarthy stranger; his hat was slouched over his face ; I 
moved in order to get a clearer view of his countenance. 
It was the same person I had seen with Thornton that 
morning. Never to this moment have I forgotten the 
stern and ferocious expression with which he was gazing 
upon the keen and agitated features of the gambler oppo- 
site. In the eye and lip there was neither pleasure, hatred, 
nor scorn, in their simple and unalloyed elements ; but 
each seemed blent and mingled into one deadly concen- 
tration of evil passions. 

This man neither played, nor spoke, nor moved. lie 
appeared utterly insensible of every feeling in common 
with those around. There he stood, wrapped in his own 
dark and inscrutable thoughts, never, for one instant, 
taking his looks f?$m the varying countenance which did 
I.— 11 


122 


PELHAM; OR, 


not observe their gaze, nor altering the withering character 
of their almost demoniacal expression. I could not tear 
myself from the spot. I felt chained by some mysterious 
and undefinable interest ; my attention was first diverted 
into a new channel, by a loud exclamation from the dark- 
visaged gambler at the table ; it was the first he had 
uttered, notwithstanding his anxiety ; and, from the deep, 
thrilling tone in which it was expressed, it conveyed a 
keen sympathy with the overcharged feelings which it 
burst from. 

With a trembling hand, he took from an old purse the 
few Napoleons that were still left there. He set them 
all at one hazard on the rouge. He hung over the table 
with a dropping lip ; his hands were tightly clasped in 
each other ; his nerves seemed strained into the last agony 
of excitation. I ventured to raise my eyes upon the gaze, 
which I felt must still be upon the gambler — there it was 
fixed, and stern as before! — but it now conveyed a 
deeper expression of joy than it had hitherto assumed ; 
yet a joy so malignant and fiendish, that no look of mere 
anger or hatred could have equally chilled my heart. I 
dropped my eyes. I redoubled my attention to the cards 
« — the last two were to be turned up. A moment mote I 
— the fortune was to the noir. The stranger had lost ! 
He did not utter a single word. He looked with a vacant 
eye on the long mace, with which the marker had swept 
away his last hopes, with his last coin, and then, rising, left 
the room, and disappeared. 

The other Englishman was not long in following him. 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 123 


He uttered a short, low laugh, unheard, perhaps, by any 
one but myself ; and, pushing through the atmosphere of 
nacres! and mille tonnerres ! which filled that pandemo- 
aium, strode quickly to the door. I felt as if a load had 
Deen taken from my bosom, when he was gone. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Reddere personae scit convenientia cuique. * — IIor. Ars Poet. 

I was loitering over my breakfast the next morning, 
and thinking of the last night’s scene, when Lord Vincent 
was announced. 

“ How fares the gallant Pelham ? ” said he, as he entered 
the room. 

“ Why, to say the truth,” I replied, “ I am rather under 
the influence of blue devils this morning, and your visit is 
like a sun-beam in November.” 

“A bright thought,” said Vincent, “and I shall make 
you a very pretty little poet soon ; publish you in a neat 

octavo, and dedicate you to Lady D e. Pray, by- 

the-by, have you ever read her plays ? You know they 
were only privately printed?” 

“No,” said I, (for in good truth, had his lordship 
interrogated me touching any other literary -production, 

* The appropriate justice sorts each shade and hue, 

Aid gives to each the exact proportion due. — Paraphrase. 


124 


PEL ham; or, 


I should have esteemed it a part of my present character 
to return the same answer). 

“ No ! ” repeated Vincent ; “ permit me to tell you, that 
you must never seem ignorant of any work not published. 
To be admired, one must always know what other people 
don’t — and then one has full liberty to sneer at the value 
of what other people do know. Renounce the threshold 
of knowledge. There, every new proselyte can meet you. 
Boast of your acquaintance with the sanctum, and not one 
in ten thousand can dispute it with you. Have you read 

Monsieur de C ’s pamphlet?” 

“ Really,” said I, “ I have been so busy ! ” 

“Ah, mon ami!” cried Vincent, “ the greatest sign of 
an idle man is to complain of being busy. But you have 

had a loss : the pamphlet is good. C- — - , by the way, 

has an extraordinary, though not an expanded mind : it 
is like a citizen’s garden near London ; a pretty parterre 
here, and a Chinese pagoda there ; an oak tree in one 
corner, and a mushroom bed in the other : and above all, a 
Gothic Ruin opposite the bay-window ! You may traverse 
the whole in a stride ; it is the four quarters of the globe 
in a mole-hill. Yet everything is good in its kind ; and is 
neither without elegance nor design in its arrangement.” 

“ What do you think,” said I, “ of the Barron de — — 

the minister of ? ” 

u Of him!” replied Vincent — 

‘ His soul 

Still sits at squat, and peeps not from its hole.* 

It is dark and bewildered — full of dim visions of tha 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 125 

ancient regime ; — it is a bat hovering about the cells of 
an old abbey. Poor, antique little soul ! but I will say 
nothing more about it — 

‘ For who would be satirical 
Upon a thing so very small’ 

as the soul of the Baron de ! ” 

Finding Lord Vincent so disposed to the biting mood, 
1 immediately directed his rabies towards Mr. Aberton. 

“Aberton,” said Vincent, in answer to my question, if 
he knew that amiable young gentleman — “ Yes ! a sort 
of man who, speaking of the best society, says we — who 
sticks his best cards on his chimney-piece, and writes himself 
billets-doux from duchesses, A duodecimo of ‘ precious 
conceits,’ bound in calf-skin — I know the man well ; does 
he not dress decently, Pelham?” 

“ His clothes are well made,” said I, candidly. 

“Ah 1 ” said Vincent, “ I should think he went to the 
best tailor, and said, ‘ Give me a collar like Lord So and 
So’s,’ ; one who would not dare to have a new waistcoat 
till it had been authoritatively patronized, and who took 
his fashions, like his follies, from the best proficients. 
Such fellows are always too ashamed of themselves not 
to be proud of their clothes ; — like the Chinese mariners, 
they burn incense before the needle /” 

“And Mr. Howard de Howard,” said I, laughing, 
“ what do you think of him ? ” 

“ What ! the thin Eupatrid ? ” cried Vincent. “ He is 
the mathematical definition of a straight line — length 
without breadth . His inseparable friend, Mr. Aberton, 
11 * 


126 


PELHAM; OR, 


« 


was running up the Rue St. Honore yesterday in order to 
catch him, and when I saw him chasing that meagre 
apparition, I said to Bennington, ‘ I have found out the 
real Peter Schlemil ! ’ ‘ Whom ? ’ (asked his grave lord- 
ship, with serious naivete ) — ‘Mr. Aberton/ said I; ‘don’t 
you see him running after his shadow V But the pride 
of the lean thing is so amusing ! He is fifteenth cousin 
to the duke, and so his favorite exordium is ‘ Whenever 
I succeed to the titles of my ancestors . 1 It was but the 
other day, that he heard two or three silly young men 
discussing church and state, and they began by talking 
irreligion — (Mr. Howard de Howard is too unsubstantial 
not to be spiritually inclined) — however he only fidgeted 
in his chair. They then proceeded to be exceedingly 
disloyal. Mr. Howard de Howard fidgeted again. They 
then passed to vituperations on the aristocracy; — this 
the attenuated pomposity (nxagni nominis umbra) could 
brook no longer. He rose up, cast a severe look on the 
abashed youths, and thus addressed them — ‘ Gentlemen, 
I have sate by in silence, and heard my King derided, and 
my God blasphemed ; but now when you attack the aris- 
tocracy, I can no longer refrain from noticing so obviously 
intentional an insult. You have become personal. ’ ” 

“ Pray, Vincent,” said I, after a short pause, “did yot 
ever meet with a Mr. Thornton at Paris ?” 

“ Thornton, Thornton,” said Vincent, musingly ; “ wha,, 
Tom Thornton ? ” 

“ I should think, very likely,” I replied ; “just the so*t 
of man who would be Tom Thornton — has a broad face, 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 12*? 

with a color, and wears a spotted neckcloth ; Tom — what 
could his name be but Tom?” 

“ Is he about five-and-thirty ? ” asked Vincent, “ rather 
fchort, and with reddish-colored hair and whiskers ? ” 

“ Precisely,” said I ; “ are not all Toms alike ? ” 

“Ah,” said Vincent, “I know him Well : he is a clever, 
shrewd fellow, but a most unmitigated rascal. He is the 
son of a steward in Lancashire, and received an attorney's 
education ; but being a humorous, noisy fellow, he became 
a great favorite with his father’s employer, who was a sort 
of Mecaenas to cudgel-players, boxers, and horse-jockeys. 
At his house, Thornton met many persons of rank, but 
of a taste similar to their host’s; and they, mistaking his 
vulgar coarseness for honesty, and his quaint proverbs 
for wit, admitted him into their society. It was with one 
of them that I have seen him. I believe of late, that his 
character has been of a very indifferent odor: and what- 
ever has brought him among the English at Paris — those 
white-washed abominations — those ‘innocent blacknesses,’ 
as Charles Lamb calls chimney-sweepers, it does not argue 
well for his professional occupations. I should think 
however, that he manages to live here ; for wherever there 
are English fools, there are fine pickings for an English 
rogue.” 

“Ay,” said I, “but are there enough fools here to feed 
the rogues?” 

‘ Yes, because rogues are like spiders, and eat each 
other, when there is nothing else to catch ; and Tom 
Thornton is safe, as long as the ordinary law of nature 


128 


PELHAM; OR, 


lasts, that the greater knave preys on the lesser, — for 
there cannot possibly be a greater knave than he is ! If 
you have made his acquaintance, my dear Pelham, I advise 
you most soberly to look to yourself, for if he doth not 
steal, beg, or borrow of you, Mr. Howard de Howard 
will grow fat, and even Mr. Aberton cease to be a fool. 
And now, most noble Pelham, farewell. II est plus aisl ) 
d'etre sage pour les autres que de Veirepour soi-meme." * 


CHAPTER XXI. 

This is a notable couple — and have met 

But for some secret knavery . — The Tanner of Tyburn. 

I had now been several weeks in Paris, and I was not 
altogether dissatisfied with the manner in which they had 
been spent. I had enjoyed myself to the utmost, while 
I had, as much as possible, combined profit with pleasure; 
viz., if I went to the Opera in the evening, I learned to 
dance in the morning ; if I drove to a soiree at the 
Huchesse de Perpignan’s, it was not till I had fenced an 
hour at the Salon des Assauts d'Armes; in short, I took 
the greatest pains to complete my education. — I wish all 
young men who frequented the Continent for that purpose 
could say the same ! 

One day (about a week after the conversation with 


* It is more easy to be wise for others than for oneself. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 129 

Vincent, recorded in my last chapter) I was walking 
slowly along one of the paths in the Jardin des Plantes, 
meditating upon the various excellencies of the Rocker 
de Cancale and the Duchesse de Perpignan, when I 
perceived a tall man, with a thick, rough coat, of a dark 
color (which I recognized long before I did the face of 
the wearer) emerging from an intersecting path. He 
stopped a few moments, and looked around as if expecting 
some one. Presently a woman, apparently about thirty, 
and meanly dressed, appeared in an opposite direction. 
She approached him ; they exchanged a few words, and 
then, the woman taking his arm, they struck into another 
path, and were soon out of sight. I suppose that the 
reader has already discovered that this man was Thornton’s 
companion in the Bois de Boulogne, and the hero of the 
gaming-house, in the Palais Royal. I could not have 
supposed that so noble a countenance, even in its frowns, 
could ever have wasted its smiles upon a mistress of the 
low station to which the woman who had met him evi- 
dently belonged. However, we all have our little foibles, 
as the Frenchman said, when he boiled his grandmother’s 
head in a pipkin. 

I myself was, at that time, the sort of person that is 
al ways taken by a pretty face, however coarse may be the 
garments wluoh set it off ; and although I cannot say that 
I ever stooped so far as to become amorous of a cham- 
bermaid, yet I could be tolerably lenient to any man under 
thirty who did. As a proof of this gentleness of depo- 
sit 1 on, ten minutes after I had witnessed so unsuitable a 


I 


130 


PELHAM; OR, 


rencontre , I found myself following a pretty little grisette 
into a small sort of cabaret, which was, at the time I speak 
of (and most probably still is), in the midst of the gardens. 
I sat down, and called for my favorite drink of lemonade : 
the little grisette , who was with an old woman, possibly 
her mother, and un beau gros gar$on, probably her lover, 
sat opposite, and began, with all the ineffable coquetries 
of her country, to divide her attention between the said 
gargon and myself. Poor fellow, he seemed to be very 
little pleased by the significant glances exchanged over 
his right shoulder, and at last, under pretence of screen- 
ing her from the draught of the opened window, placed 
himself exactly between us. This, however ingenious, did 
not at all answer his expectations ; for he had not suffi- 
ciently taken into consideration, that I also was endowed 
with the power of locomotion ; accordingly I shifted my 
chair about three feet, and entirely defeated the counter 
march of the enemy. 

But this flirtation did not last long ; the youth and the 
old woman appeared very much of the |LTme opinion as to 
its impropriety; and accordingly, like experienced generals, 
resolved to conquer by a retreat ; they drank up their 
orgeat — paid for it — placed the wavering regiment in 
the middle, and then quitted the field. I was not, howeve:, 
of a disposition to break my heart at such an occurrence, 
and I remained by the window, drinking my lemonade, 
and muttering to myself, ‘‘After all, women are a bore ! ” 

On the outside of the cabaret, and just under my window, 
was a bench, which, for a certain number of sous , one 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 131 

might appropriate to the entire and unparticipated use of 
one’s-self and party. An old woman (so at least I suppose 
by her voice, for I did not give myself the trouble of look- 
ing, — though, indeed as to that matter, it might have 
been the shrill treble of Mr. Howard dc Howard !) had 
been hitherto engrossing this settlement with some gallant 
or other. In Paris, no woman is too old to get an amant , 
either by love or money. This couple soon paired off, 
and was immediately succeeded by another. The first 
tones of the man’s voice, low as they were, made me start 
from my seat. I cast one quick glance before I resumed it. 
The new pair were the Englishman I had before noted in 
the garden, and the female companion who had joined him. 

“ Two hundred pounds, you say ? ” muttered the man ; 
“ we must have it all.” 

“ But,” returned the woman, in the same whispered 
voice, “he says, that he will never touch another card.” 
The man laughed. “ Fool,” said he, “ the passions are 
not so easily quelled — how many days is it since he had 
this remittance from England ? ” 

“About three,” replied the woman. 

“And is it absolutely the very last remnant of his 

9 

property ? ” 

“The last.” 

“ I am then to understand, that when this is spent there 
is nothing between him and beggary ? ” 

11 Nothing,” said the woman, with a half sigh. 

The man laughed again, and then rejoined in an altered 
tone, “Then, then will this parching thirst be quenched 


132 


PELHAM; OR, 


at last. I tell you, woman, that it is many months since 
I have known a day — night — hour, in which my life has 
been as the life of other men. My whole soul has been 
melted down into one burning, burning thought. Feel 
this hand — ay, you may well start — but what is the fever 
cf the frame to that within ? ” 

Here the voice sank so low as to be inaudible. The 
woman seemed as if endeavoring to soothe him ; at length 
he said — 

“But poor Tyrrell — you will not, surely, suffer him to 
starve, to die of actual want, abandoned and alone ! ” 

“Alone 1 no ! ” cried her companion, fiercely. “When 
the last agonies shall be upon that man — when, sick with 
weariness, pain, disease, hunger, he lies down to die — 
when the death-gurgle is in the throat, and the eye swims 
beneath the last dull film — when remembrance peoples 
the chamber with Hell, and his cowardice would falter 
forth its dastard recantation to Heaven — then — may I 
he there ! ” 

There was a long pause, only broken by the woman’s 
sobs, which she appeared endeavoring to stifle. At last 
the man rose, and in a tone so soft that it seemed literally 
like music, addressed her in the most endearing terms. 
She soon yielded to their persuasion, and replied to them 
with interest. 

“ Spite of the stings of my remorse,” she said, “as long 
as I lose not you, I will lose life, honor, hope, even soul 
itself! ” 

They both quitted the spot as she said this. 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


iZ$ 


CHAPTER XXII. 

At length the treacherous snare was laid, 

Poor pug was caught — to town convey’d; 

There sold. How envied was his doom, 

Made captive in a lady’s room! — Gay’s Fables. 

I was sitting alone a morning or two after this adventure, 
when Bedos, entering, announced une dame. 

This dame was a fine tall thing, dressed out like a print 
in the Magasin des Modes. She sate herself down, threw 
up her veil, and, after a momentary pause, asked me if I 
liked my apartment? 

“ Yery much,” said I, somewhat surpised at the nature 
of the interrogatory. 

“ Perhaps you would wish it altered in some way ? ” 
rejoined the lady. 

“ Non — Mille remercimens ! ” said I — “ you are very 
good to be so interested in my accommodation.” 

“ Those curtains might be better arranged — that sofu 
replaced with a more elegant one,” continued my new 
superintendent. 

“ Really,” said I, “ I am too, too much flattered. Per- 
haps you would like to have my rooms altogether ; if so, 
make at least no scruple of saying it.” 

“Oh, no,” replied the lady, “I have no objection to 
your staying here,” 

I —12 


134 


pelham; on, 


“ You are too kind,” said I, with a low bow. 

There was pause of some moments — I took advantage 
of it. 

“ I think, madame, I have the honor of speaking to — 
to — to — ” 

“The mistress of the hotel,” said the lady, quietly. “I 
merely called to ask you how you did, and hope you were 
well accommodated.” 

“ Rather late, considering I have been six weeks in the 
house,” thought I, revolving in my mind various reports 
[ had heard of my present visitor’s disposition to gallantry. 
However, seeing it was all over with me, I resigned myself, 
with the patience of a martyr, to the fate that I foresaw. 
I rose, approached her chair, took her hand (very hard 
and thin it was too), and thanked her with a most affec- 
tionate squeeze. 

“ I have seen much English ! ” said the lady, for the first 
time speaking in our language. 

“Ah ! ” said I, giving another squeeze. 

“ You are a handsome gargon ,” renewed the lady. 

“ I am so,” I replied. 

At that moment Bedos entered, and whispered that 
Madame d’Anville was in the ante-room. 

“ Good Heavens 1 ” said I, knowing her jealousy of 
disposition, “ what is to be done ? Oblige me, madame,” 
seizing the unfortunate mistress of the hotel, and opening 
tne door to the back entrance — “There,” said I, “you 
can easily escape. Bon jour 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 135 

» 

Hardly had I closed the door, and put the key in my 
pocket, before Madame d’Anville entered. 

“ Is it by your order that your servant keeps me waiting 
in your ante-room ? ” said she, haughtily. 

1 endeavored to make my peace ; but all my complais- 
ance was in vain — she was jealous of my intimacy with 
the Duchesse de Perpignan, and glad of any excuse to 
vent her pique. Fortunately, however, she was going to 
the Luxembourg ; and my only chance of soothing her 
anger was to accompany her. 

Down stairs, therefore, we went, and drove to the 
Luxembourg ; I gave Bedos, before my departure, various 
little commissions, and told him he need not be at home 
till the evening. Long before the expiration of an hour, 
Madame d’Anville’s ill-humor had given me an excuse for 
affecting it myself. Tired to death of her, and panting 
for release, I took a high tone — complained of her ill- 
temper, and her want of love — spoke rapidly — waited 
for no reply, and, leaving her at the Luxembourg, pro- 
ceeded forthwith to Galignani’s, like a man just delivered 
from a strait-waistcoat. 

Leave me now, for a few minutes, in the reading-room 
at Galignani’s, and return to the mistress of the hotel, 
whom I had so unceremoniously thrust out of my salon. 
The passage into which she had been put communicated 
by one door with my rooms, and by another with the 
staircase. Now, it so happened, that Bedos was in the 
habit of locking the latter door, and keeping the key ; 
the other egress, it will be remembered, I myself had 


136 


PELHAM; OR, 

secured ; so that the unfortunate mistress of the hotel was 
no sooner turned into this passage, than she found herself 
in a sort of dungeon, ten feet by five, and surrounded, like 
Eve in Paradise, by a whole creation — not of birds, beasts, 
and fishes, but of brooms, brushes, linen for the laundress, 
and — a wood basket ! What she was to do in this di- 
lemma was utterly inconceivable ; scream, indeed, she 
might, but then the shame and ridicule of being discov- 
ered in so equivocal a situation, were somewhat more 
than our discreet landlady could endure. Besides, such 
an expose might be attended with a loss the good woman 
valued more than reputation, viz., lodgers ; for the pos- 
sessors of the two best floors were both Englishwomen 
of a certain rank ; and my landlady had heard such 
accounts of our national virtue, that she feared an instan- 
taneous emigration of such inveterate prudes, if her screams 
and situation reached their ears. 

Quietly then, and soberly, did the good lady sit, eyeing 
the brooms and brushes as they grew darker and darker 
with the approach of the evening, and consoling herself 
with the certainty that her release must eventually take 
place. 

Meanwhile, to return to myself — I found Lord Yincent 
at Galignani’s, carefully looking over “Choice Extracts 
from the best English Authors.” 

“Ah, my good fellow!” said he, “I am delighted to 
see you : I made such a capital quotation just now : the 
young Beuningtons were drowning a poor devil of a 
puppy; the youngest (to whom the mother belonged) 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 131 

looked on with a grave, earnest face, till the last kick was 
over, and then burst into tears. ‘ Why do you cry so ? * 
said I. ‘Because it was so cruel in us to drown the poor 
puppy I ” replied the juvenile Philocunos. ‘ Pooh ! ’ said 
1 ; “ Quid juvat errores mersd jam puppe fateri ? ” Was 
it not good ? — you remember it in Claudian, eh, Pelham ? 
Think of its being thrown away on those Latinless young 
lubbers ! Have you seen anything of Mr. Thornton 
lately ? ” 

“ No,” said I, “ I’ve not ; but I am determined to have 
that pleasure soon.” 

“You will do as you please,” said Vincent, “but you 
will be like the child playing with edged tools.” 

“I am not a child,” said I, “so the simile is not good. 
He must be the devil himself, or a Scotchman at least, to 
take me in.” 

Vincent shook his head. “ Come and dine with me at 
the Rocher,” said he; “we are a party of six — choice 
spirits all.” 

“ Volontiers ; but we can stroll in the Tuileries first, 
if you have no other engagement.” 

“None,” said Vincent, putting his arm in mine. 

After an hour’s walk, Vincent suddenly recollected that 
he had a commission of a very important nature in the 
Rue J. J. Rousseau. This was — to buy a monkey. “ It 
is for Wormwood,” said he, “ who has written me a long 
ietter, describing its qualities and qualifications. I suppose 
he wants it for some practical joke — some embodied 
12 * 


138 PELHAM; OR, 

bitterness — Heaven forbid I should thwart him in so 
charitable a design ! ” 

“Amen,” said I ; and we proceeded together to the 
monkey-fancier. After much deliberation, we at last 
decided upon the most hideous animal I ever beheld — it 
was of a — no, I will not attempt to describe it — it would 
be quite impossible ! Vincent was so delighted with our 
choice, that he insisted upon carrying it away immediately. 

“Is it quite quiet?” I asked. 

“ Comme un oisean ,” said the man. 

We called a fiacre — paid for Monsieur Jocko, and 
drove to Vincent’s apartments ; there we found, however, 
that his valet had gone out and taken the key. 

“ Hang it,” said Vincent, “ it does not signify ! We’ll 
carry le petit-monsievr with us to the Rocher.” 

Accordingly we all three once more entered the fiacre, 
and drove to the celebrated restaurateur’s of the Rue 
Mont Orgueil. 0, blissful recollections of that dinner ! 
how at this moment you crowd upon my delighted remem- 
brance ! Lonely and sorrowful as I now sit, digesting 
with many a throe the iron thews of a British beefsteak 
. — more Anglico — immeasurably tough — I see the grateful 
apparitions of Escallopes de Saumon and Laitances de 
Carpes rise in a gentle vapor before my eyes ! breathing 
a sweet and pleasant odor, and contrasting the dream-like 
delicacies of their hue and aspect, with the dire and dure 
realities which now weigh so heavily on the region below 
my heart 1 And thou, most beautiful of all — thou evening 
star of entremets — thou that delightest in truffles, and 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 139 

gloriest in a dark cloud of sauces — exquisite foie gras! 
— Have I forgotten thee ? Do I not, on the contrary, 
see thee — smell thee — taste thee — and almost die with 
rapture of thy possession ? What, though the goose, of 
which thou art a part, has, indeed, been roasted alive by 
a slow fire, in order to increase thy divine proportions — 
yet has not our Almanack — the Almanack des Gour- 
mands — truly declared that the goose rejoiced amid all 
her tortures — because of the glory that awaited her ? 
Did she not, in prophetic vision, behold her enlarged and 
ennobled foie dilate into pates and steam into sautes — 
the companion of truffles — the glory of dishes — the 
delight — the treasure — the transport of gourmands I 
O, exalted among birds — apotheosized goose, did not 
thy heart exult even when thy liver parched and swelled 
within thee, from that most agonizing death ; and didst 
thou not, like the Indian at the stake, triumph in the very 
torments which alone could render thee illustrious ? 

After dinner we grew exceedingly merry. Vincent 
punned and quoted ; we laughed and applauded ; and our 
Burgundy went round with an alacrity to which every 
new joke gave an additional impetus. Monsieur Jocko 
was by no means the dullest in the party ; he cracked his 
nuts with as much grace as we did our jests, and grinned 
and chattered as facetiously as the best of us. After 
coffee we were all so pleased with one another, that we 
resolved not to separate, and accordingly we adjourned 
to my rooms, Jocko and all, to find new revelries and 
grow brilliant over Cura9oa punch. 


140 


PELHAM; OR, 


We entered ray salon with a roar, and set Bedos to 
work at the punch forthwith. Bedos, that Ganymede of 
a valet, had himself but just arrived, aad was unlocking 
the door as we entered. We soon blew up a glorious fire, 
and our spirits brightened in proportion. Monsieur Jocko 
sate on Vincent’s knee — “ Ne monstrom,” as he classically 
termed it. One of our compotatores was playing with 
it. Jocko grew suddenly in earnest — a grin — a scratch, 
and a bite, were the work of a moment. 

“ Ne quid nimis — now,” said Vincent, gravely, instead 
of endeavoring to soothe the afflicted party, who grew 
into a towering passion. Nothing but Jocko’s absolute 
disgrace could indeed have saved his life from the ven- 
geance of the sufferer. 

“Whither shall we banish him ?” said Vincent. 

“ Oh,” I replied, “put him out in that back passage; 
the outer door is shut ; he’ll be quite safe ; ” and to the 
passage he was therefore immediately consigned. 

It was in this place, the reader will remember, that the 
hapless dame du Chateau was at that very instant in “ du- 
rance vile.” Unconscious of this fact, I gave Bedos the 
key, he took the condemned monkey, opened the door, 
thrust Jocko in, and closed it again. Meanwhile we 
resumed our merriment. 

“ Nunc est bibendum ,” said Vincent, as Bedos placed 
the punch on the table. “ Give us a toast, Dartmore.” 

Lord Dartmore was a young man, with tremendous 
spirits, which made up for wit. He was just about to 
reply, when a loud shriek was heard from Jocko’s place 


adventures op a gentleman. 14 ^ 

of banishment : a sort of scramble ensued, and the next 
moment the door was thrown violently open, and in rushed 
the terrified landlady, screaming like a sea-gull, and bear- 
ing aloft upon her shoulder, from which “bad eminence” 
he was grinning and chattering with the fury of fifty devils. 
She ran twice round the room, and then sank on the floor 
in hysterics, feigned or real. We lost no time in hastening 
to her assistance ; but the warlike Jocko, still sitting upon 
her, refused to permit one of us to approach. There he 
sat, turning from side to side, showing his sharp, white 
teeth, and uttering from time to time the most menacing 
and diabolical sounds. 

“ What the deuce shall we do ? ” cried Dartmore. 

“Do?” said Yincent, who was convulsed with laughter, 
and yet endeavoring to speak gravely ; “ why, watch like 
L. Opimius, ‘ ne qaid respublica detriment! caperet .’ ” 

“ By Jove, Pelham, he will scratch out the lady’s beaux 
yeux” cried the good-natured Dartmore, endeavoring to 
seize the monkey by the tail, for which he very narrowly 
escaped with an unmutilated visage. But the man who 
had before suffered by Jocko’s ferocity, and whose breast 
was still swelling with revenge, was glad of so favorable 
an opportunity and excuse for wreaking it. He seized 
the poker, made three strides to Jocko, who set up an 
ineffable cry of defiance — and with a single blow split 
the skull of the unhappy monkey in twain. It fell with 
one convulsion on the ground and gave up the ghost. 

We then raised the unfortunate landlady, placed her 
ou the sofa, and Dartmore administered a plentiful pota« 


142 


PELHAM; OR, 


tion of the Cura^oa punch. By slow degrees she revived, 
gave three most doleful suspirations, and then, starting up 
gazed wildly around her. Half of us were still laughing 
— my unfortunate self among the number ; this the enraged 
landlady no sooner perceived than she imagined herself 
the victim of some preconcerted villany. Her lips trem- 
bled with passion — she uttered the most dreadful impre- 
cations ; and had I not retired into a corner, and armed 
myself with the dead body of Jocko, which I wielded with 
exceeding valor, she might, with the simple weapons with 
which nature had provided her hands, have for ever de- 
molished the loves and graces that abide in the face of 
Henry Pelham. 

When at last she saw that nothing hostile was at present 
to be effected, she drew herself up, and giving Bedos a 
tremendous box on the ear, as he stood grinning beside 
her, marched out of the room. 

We then again rallied around the table, more than ever 
disposed to be brilliant, and kept up till day-break a con- 
tinued fire of jests upon the heroine of the passage : “ cum 
qua, (as Vincent happily observed) clauditnr adversti 
innoxia simia fatis/ 11 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


143 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Show me not thy painted beauties, 

These impostures I defy. — George Withers. 

The cave of Falri smelt not more delicately; — on every side 
appeared the marks of drunkenness and gluttony. At the upper 
end of the cave the sorcerer lay extended, &c. 

Mirglip the Persian, in the Tales of the Genii. 

I woke the next morning with an aching head and 
feverish frame. Ah, those midnight carousals, how 
glorious they would be if there were no next morning 1 
I took my sauterne and soda-water in my dressing-room ; 
and, as indisposition always makes me meditative, I 
thought over all I had done since my arrival at Paris. I 
had become ( that , Heaven knows, I soon manage to do) 
rather a talked-of and noted character. It is true that I 
was everywhere abused — one found fault with my neck- 
cloth — another with my mind — the lank Mr. Abertnn 
declared that I put my hair in papers, and the stuffed Sir 
Henry Millington said I was a thread-paper myself. One 
blamed my riding — a second my dancing — a third won- 
dered how any woman could like me, and a fourth said 
that no woman ever could. 

On one point, however, all — friends and foes — were 
alike agreed : viz., that I was a consummate puppy, and 
excessively well satisfied with myself. Perhaps, they w re 
not much mistaken there. Why is it, by-the-by, that to 


]4i PELHAM; OR. 

be pleased with one’s-self is the surest way of offending 
everybody else? If any one, male or female, an evident 
admirer of his or her own perfections, enter a room, how 

perturbed, restless, and unhappy every individual of the 

\ 

offender’s sex instantly becomes : for them not only enjoy- 
ment but tranquillity is over, and if they could annihilate 
the unconscious victim of their spleen, I fully believe no 
Christian toleration would come in the way of that last 
extreme of animosity. For a coxcomb there is no nercy 

— for a coquette no pardon. They are, as it were, the 
dissenters of society — no crime is too bad to be imputed 
to them ; they do not believe the religion of others — 
they set up a deity of their own vanity — all the orthodox 
vanities of others are offended. Then comes the bigotry 

— the stake — the auto-da-fe of scandal. What, alas! 
is so implacable as the rage of vanity ? What so restless 
as its persecution ? Take from a man his fortune, his 
house, his reputation, but flatter his vanity in each, and 
he will forgive you. Heap upon him benefits, fill him 
with blessings : but irritate his self-love, and you have 
made the very best man ungrateful. He will sting you if 
he can : you cannot blame him ; you yourself have instilled 
the venom. This is one reason why you must rarely 
reckon upon gratitude in conferring an obligation. It is 
a very high mind to which gratitude is not a painful 
sensation. If you wish to please, you will find it wiser to 
receive — solicit even — favors, than accord them : for the 
vanity of the obliger is always flattered — that of the 
obligee rarely 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 145 


Well, this is an unforeseen digression; let me return? 
I had mixed, of late, very little with the English. My 
mother’s introductions had procured me the entree of the 
best French houses ; and to them, therefore, my evenings 
were usually devoted. Alas ! that was a happy time, when 
my carriage used to await me at the door of the Rocher 
de Cancale, and then whirl me to a succession of visits, 
varying in their degree and nature as the whim prompted : 

now to the brilliant soirees of Madame de , or to the 

appartement au troiseme of some less celebrated daughter 
of dissipation and ecarte ; — now to the literary conver- 
saziones of the Duchesse de D s, or the Yicomte d’ , 

and then to the feverish excitement of the gambling-house. 
Passing from each with the appetite for amusement kept 
alive by variety ; finding in none a disappointment, and 
in every one a welcome ; full of the health which supports, 
and the youth which colors all excess or excitement, J 
drained, with an unsparing lip, whatever enjoyment that 
enchanting metropolis could afford. 

I have hitherto said but little of the Duchesse de 
Perpignan ; I think it necessary now to give some account 
of that personage. Ever since the evening I had met her 
at the ambassador’s, I paid her the most unceasing atten- 
tions. I soon discovered that she had a curious sort of 
liaison with one of the attaches — a short ill-made gen- 
tleman, with high shoulders and a pale face, who wore a 
blue coat and a buff waistcoat, wrote bad verses, and 
thought himself handsome. All Paris said she was ex- 
cessively enamoured of this youth. As for me, I had not 
I. — 13 K 


146 


PELHAM; OR, 


known her four days before I discovered that she could 
not be excessively enamoured of anything but an oyster 
pate and Lord Byron’s Corsair. Her mind was the most 
marvellous melange of sentiment and its opposite. In 
her amours she was Lucretia herself; in her epicurism 
Apicius would have yielded to her. She was pleased with 
sighs, but she adored suppers. She would leave everything 
for her lover, except her dinner. The attache soon quar- 
relled with her, and I was installed into the platonic honors 
of his office. 

At first, I own that I was flattered by her choice, and 
though she was terribly exacting of my petits soins, I 
managed to keep up her affection, and, what is still more 
wonderful, my own, for the better part of a month. What 
then cooled me was the following occurrence : — 

I was in her boudoir one evening, when her femme de 
chambre came to tell us that the Due was in the passage. 
Notwithstanding the innocence of our attachment, the 
Duchesse was in a violent fright ; a small door was at the 
left of the ottoman, on which we were sitting. “ Oh, no, 
no, not there!” cried the lady; but I, who saw no other 
refuge, entered it forthwith, and before she could ferret 
me out, the Due was in the room. 

In the meanwhile, I amused myself by examining the 
wonders of the new world into which I had so abruptly 
immerged : on a small table before me, was deposited a 
remarkably constructed night-cap; I examined it as - a 
curiosity ; on eacli side was placed une petite cohlette ae 
veau cru, sewed on with e:reen-colored silk (I remember 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 147 

even the smallest minutiae) : a beautiful golden wig (the 
Duchesse never liked me to play with her hair) was on a 
block close by, and on another table was a set of teeth, 
d'une blancheur ebouissante. In this manufactory of a 
beauty I remained for a quarter of an hour ; at the end 
of that time, the abigail (the Duchesse had the grace to 
disappear) released me, and I flew down srairs like a 
spirit from purgatory. 

From that moment the Duchesse honored me with her 
most deadly abhorrence. Equally silly and wicked, her 
schemes of revenge were as ludicrous in their execution as 
remorseless in their design : at one time I narrowly escaped 
poison in a cup of coffee — at another, she endeavored to 
stab me to the heart with a paper cutter. 

Notwithstanding my preservation from these attacks, 
my fair enemy had resolved on my destruction, and another 
means of attempting it still remained, which the reader 
will yet have the pleasure of learning. 

Mr. Thornton had called upon me twice, and twice I 
had returned the visit, but neither of us had been at home 
to benefift by these reciprocities of politeness. His ac- 
quaintance with my mysterious hero of the gambling-house 
and the Jardin des Plantes , and the keen interest I took, 
in spite of myself, in that unaccountable person, whom I 

was persuaded I had seen before in some very different 

» 

scene, and under very different circumstances, made me 
desirous to improve an acquaintance, which, from Vincent’s 
detail. I should otherwise have been anxious to avoid. J 
therefore resolved to make another attempt to find him 


J48 


PELHAM; OR, 

at home ; and my headache being: somewhat better, T took 
my way to his apartments in the Faubourg St. Germain. 

I love that qu artier ! — if ever I go to Paris again I 
shall reside there. It is a different world from the streets 
usually known to, and tenanted by the English — there, 
indeed, you are among the French, the fossilized remains 
of the old regime — the very houses have an air of desolate, 
yet venerable grandeur — you never pass by the white 
and modern mansion of a nouveau riche ; all, even to the 
ruggedness of the pav£, breathes a haughty disdain of 
innovation — you cross one of the numerous bridges, and 
you enteri nto another time — you are inhaling the atmo- 
sphere of a past century ; no flaunting boutique, French in 
its trumpery, English in its prices, stares you in the face ; 
no stiff coats and unnatural gaits are seen anglicizing up 
the melancholy streets. Vast hotels, with their gloomy 
frontals, and magnificent contempt of comfort : shops, such 
as shops might have been in the aristocratic days of Louis 
Quatorze, ere British contamination made them insolent 
and dear ; public edifices, still eloquent of the superb chari- 
ties of le grand monarque — carriages with their huge 
bodies and ample decorations ; horses, with their Norman 
dimensions and undocked honors ; men, on whose more 
high though not less courteous demeanour, the Revolution 
seems to have wrought no democratic plebeanism — all 
Strike on the mind with a vague and nameless impression 
of antiquity ; a something solemn even in gaiety, and faded 
in pomp, appears to linger over all you behold ; there are 
the Great French people unadulterated by change, nnsui- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 149 

lied with the commerce of the vagrant and various tribes 
that throng their mighty mart of enjoyments. 

The strangers who fill the quartiers on this side the 
Seine pass not there ; between them and the Faubourg 
there is a gulf; the very skies seem different — your own 
feelings, thoughts — nature itself — alter, when you have 
passed that Styx which divides the wanderers from the 
habitants ; your spirits are not so much damped, as tinged, 
refined, ennobled by a certain inexpressible awe — you 
are girt with the stateliness of eld, and you tread the 
gloomy streets with the dignity of a man, who is recalling 
the splendors of an ancient court where he once did 
homage.* 

I arrived at Thornton’s chambers in the Rue St. Dom- 
inique. “ Monsievr t est-il cliez lui ? ” said I to the, ancient 
porteress, who was reading one of Crebillon’s novels. 

“ Oui Monsieur , au quatrieme ,” was the answer. I 
turned to the dark and unclean stair-case, and, after 
incredible exertion and fatigue, arrived, at last, at the 
elevated abode of Mr. Thornton 

“ Entrez ,” cried a voice, in answer to my rap. I obeyed 
the signal, and found myself in a room of tolerable dimen- 
sions and multiplied utilities. A decayed silk curtain of a 
dingy blue, drawn across a recess, separated the chambre 
d coucher from the salon. It was at present only half 
drawn, and did not, therefore, conceal the mysteries of 
the den within ; the bed was still unmade, and apparently 

* It was in 1827 that this was first published: the glory (by this 
time) has probably left the Faubourg 

12 * 


150 


PELHAM; OR, 


of no very inviting cleanliness ; a red handkerchief, that 
served as a night-cap, hung pendent from the foot of tne 
bed : at a little distance from it, more towards the pillow, 
were a shawl, a parasol, and an old slipper. On a table, 
which stood between the two dull, filmy windows, were 
placed a cracked bowl, still reeking with the lees of gin- 
punch, two bottles half full, a mouldy cheese, and a salad 
dish : on the ground beneath the table lay two huge books, 
and a woman’s bonnet. 

Thornton himself sat by a small consumptive fire, in an 
easy chair ; another table, still spread with the appliances 
of breakfast, viz., a coffee-pot, a milk-jug, two cups, a 
broken loaf, and an empty dish, mingled with a pack of 
cards, one dice, and an open book de mauvais gout , stood 
immediately before him. 

Every thing around bore some testimony of low de- 
bauchery ; and the man himself, with his flushed and 
sensual countenance, his unwashed hands, and the slovenly 
rakishness of his whole appearance, made no unfitting 
^presentation of the Genius loci. 

All that I have described, together with a flitting shadow 
of feminine appearance, escaping through another door, 
my quick eye discovered in the same instant that I made 
my salutation. 

Thornton rose, with an air half-careless and half, 
abashed, and expressed, in more appropriate terms than 
his appearance warranted, his pleasurable surprise at 
seeing me at last. There was, however, a singularity in 
his conversation which gave it an air both of shrewdness 


» 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 15 { 

HiiQ vulgarity. This was, as may before have been noted, 
a profuse intermixture of proverbs, some stale, some new, 
some sensible enough, and all savoring of a vocabulary 
carefully eschewed by every man of ordinary refinement 
in conversation. 

“I have but a small tenement,” said he, smiling ; “but, 
thank Heaven, at Paris a man is not made by his lodgings. 
Small house, small care. Few gargons have indeed a 
more sumptuous apartment than myself.” 

“ True,” said I ; “ and if I may judge by the bottles on 
the opposite table, and the bonnet beneath it, you find 
that no abode is too humble or too exalted for the solace 
of the senses.” 

“ ’Fore Gad, you are in the right, Mr. Pelham,” replied 
Thornton, with a loud, coarse, chuckling laugh, which, 
more than a year’s conversation could have done, let me 
into the secrets of his character. “ I care not a rush for 
the decorations of the table, so that the cheer be good ; 
nor for the gewgaws of the head-dress, so long as the face is 
pretty — 1 the taste of the kitchen is better than the smell.’ 

Do you go much to Madame B ’s in the Rue Gretry 

— eh, Mr. Pelham ? — ah, I ’ll be bound you do.” 

“No,” said I, with a loud laugh, but internal shiver; 
“but you know where to find le bon vin et les jolies filles. 
As for me, I am still a stranger in Paris, and amuse 
myself but very indifferently.” 

Thornton’s face brightened. “ I tell you what, my good 
fellow-^ — I beg pardon — I mean Mr. Pelham — I can 


c 


152 PELHAM; OR, 

show you the best sport in the world, if you can only spare 
me a little of your time — this very evening, perhaps ? ” 
“ I fear,” said I, “ I am engaged all the present week ; 
but I long for nothing more than to cultivate an acquaint- 
ance, seemingly so exactly to my own taste.” 

Thornton’s grey eyes twinkled. “Will you breakfast 
with me on Saturday?” said he. 

“ 1 shall be too happy,” I replied. 

There was now a short pause. I took advantage of it. 
“ I think,” said I, “ I have seen you once or twice with a 
tall, handsome man, in a loose great-coat of very singular 
color. Pray, if not impertinent, who is he ? I am sure 
I have seen him before in England.” 

I looked full upon Thornton as I said this ; he changed 
color, and answered my gaze with a quick glance from his 
small, glittering eye, before he replied, “I scarcely know 
who you mean, my acquaintance is so large and miscel- 
laneous at Paris. It might have been Johnson, or Smith, 
or Howard, or anybody, in short.” 

“It is a man nearly six feet high,” said I, “thin, and 
remarkably well made, of a pale complexion, light eyes, 
and very black hair, mustachios and whiskers. I saw him 
with you once in the Bois de Boulogne, and once in a hell 
in the Palais Royal. Surely, now you will recollect who 
he is ? ” 

Thornton was evidently disconcerted. “ Oh ! ” said he, 
after a short pause, and another of his peculiarly quick, 
sly glances. — “ Oh, that man ; I have known him a very 
short time. What is his name ? — let me see ! ” and Mr, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 153 

Thornton affected to look down in a complete reverie of 
dim remembrances. 

I saw, however, that, from time to time, his eye glanced 
up to me, with a restless, inquisitive expression, and as 
instantly retired. 

“Ah,” said I, carelessly, “ I think I know who he is I ” 

“Who?” cried Thornton, eagerly, and utterly off his 
guard. 

“And yet,” I pursued, without noticing the interruption, 
“it scarcely can be — the color of the hair is so very 
different.” 

Thornton again appeared to relapse into his recollec. 
tions. 

“War — Warbur — ah, I have it now I” cried he, 
“Warburton — that’s it — that’s the name — is it the one 
you supposed, Mr. Pelham ? ” 

“No,” said I, apparently perfectly satisfied. “I was 
quite mistaken. Good morning, I did not think it was so 
late. On Saturday, then, Mr. Thoruton — au plaisir /” 

“A cunning dog I ” said I to myself, as I left the apart- 
ments. “ However, on pent etre trop fin. I shall have 
him yet.” 

The surest way to make a dupe, is to let your victim 1 
suppose you are his. 


154 


PELHAM; OB, 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Voil& de l’^rudition .* — Les Femmes Savantes. 

I found, on my return, covered with blood, and foaming 
with passion, my inestimable valet — Bedos ! 

“What’s the matter?” said I. 

“ Matter !” repeated Bedos, in a tone almost inarticu- 
late with rage ; and then, rejoicing at the opportunity of 
unbosoming his wrath, he poured out a vast volley of 
ivrognes and carognes , against our dame du chateau, of 
monkey reminiscence. With great difficulty, I gathered 
at last, from his vituperations, that the enraged landlady, 
determined to wreak her vengeance on some one, had sent 
for him into her appartement, accosted him with a smile, 
bade him sit down, regaled him with cold vol-au-vent, and 
a glass of Cura^oa, and, while he was felicitating himself 
on his good fortune, slipped out of the room : presently, 
three tall fellows entered with sticks. 

“We’ll teach you,” said the biggest of them — “we’ll 
teach you to lock up ladies for the indulgence of your 
vulgar amusement ; ” and, without one other word, they 
fell upon Bedos with incredible zeal and vigor. The val- 
iant valet defended himself, tooth and nail, for some time, 
for which he only got the more soundly belabored. In 


* There’s erudition for you. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 155 

the meanwhile the landlady entered, and, with the same 
gentle smile as before, begged him to make no ceremony, 
to proceed with his present amusement, and when he was 
tired with the exercise, hoped he would refresh himself 
with another glass of Curacoa. 

“ It was this,” said Bedos, with a whimper, “ which hurt 
me the most, to think she should serve me so cruelly, aftei 
I had eaten so plentifully of the vol-au-vent ; envy and 
injustice I can bear, but treachery stabs me to the heart.” 
When these threshers of men were tired, the lady sat- 
isfied, and Bedos half dead, they suffered the unhappy 
valet to withdraw ; the mistress of the hotel giving him 
a note, which she desired, with great civility, that he 
would transmit to me on my return. This, I found, in- 
closed my bill, and informed me that, my month being out 
on the morrow, she had promised my rooms to a particular 
friend, and begged I would, therefore, have the bonte to 
choose another apartment. 

“Carry my luggage forthwith,” said I, “to the Hotel 
de Mirabeau : ” and that very evening I changed my abode. 

I was engaged that day to a literary dinner at the Mar- 
quis d’Al ; and as I knew I should meet Vincent, I 

felt some pleasure in repairing to my entertainer’s hotel. 
They were just going to dinner as I entered. A good 
many English were of the party. The good-natured, in 

all senses of the word, Lady , who always affected to 

pet me, cried aloud, “ Pelham, man joli petit mignon, I 
have not seen you for an age — do give me your arm.” 
Madame d’Anville was just before me, and, as I looked 


156 


PELIIAM; OR, 


at her, I saw that her eyes were full of tears ; my heart 
smote me for my late inattention, and going up to her, 1 
only nodded to Lady , and said, in reply to her invi- 

tation, “ Non, perficle, it is my turn to be cruel now. 
Remember your flirtation with Mr. Howard de Howard. ” 

“ Pooh ! ” said Lady , taking Lord Yincent’s arm, 

“ your jealousy does indeed rest upon ‘ a trifle light as 
air.' ” 

“ Do you forgive me ? ” whispered I to Madame d’ 
Anville, as I handed her to the salle cl manger. 

“ Does not love forgive everything ? ” was her answer. 

“At least,” thought I, “ it never talks in those pretty 
phrases ! ” 

The conversation soon turned upon books. As for me, 
I rarely at that time took a share in those discussions ; 
indeed, I have long laid it down as a rule, that when your 
fame, or your, notoriety, is once established, you never 
gain by talking to more than one person at a time. If 
you don’t shine, you are a fool — if you do, you are a 
bore. You must become either ridiculous or unpopular 
— either hurt your own self-love by stupidity, or that of 
others by wit. I therefore sat in silence, looking exceed- 
ingly edified, and now and then muttering “good !” “true !’ 
Thank heaven, however, the suspension of one faculty 
only increases the vivacity of the others ; my eyes and 
ears always watch like sentinels over the repose of my 
lips. Careless and indifferent as I seem to all thing's, 
nothing ever escapes me : I have two peculiarities which 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 151 

serve me, it may be, instead of talent ; I observe , and / 
remember. 

“You have seen Jouy’s ‘ Hermite de la Chaussee d’ 
Antin?’” said our host to Lord Vincent. 

“ I have, and think meanly of it. There is a perpetual 
aim at something pointed, which as perpetually merges 
into something dull. He is like a bad swimmer, strikes 
out with great force, makes a confounded splash, and never 
gets a yard the further for it. It is a great effort not to 

sink. Indeed, Monsieur d’A , your literature is at a 

very reduced ebb; — bombastic in the drama — shallow 
in philosophy — mawkish in poetry, your writers in the 
present day seem to think, with Boileau — 

‘ Souvent de tous nos maux la raison est le pire.’ ” * 

“ Surely,” cried Madame d’Anville, “you will allow De 
la Martinet poetry to be beautiful?” 

“ I allow it,” said he, “ to be among the best you have ; 
and I know very few lines in your language equal to the 
two first stanzas in his ‘Meditation on Napoleon,’ or to 
those exquisite verses called ( Le lac but you will allow 
also, that he wants originality and nerve. His thoughts 
are pathetic, but not deep ; he whines, but sheds no tears. 
He has, in his imitation of Lord Byron, reversed the great 
miracle ; instead of turning water into wine, he has turned 
wine into water. Besides, he is so unpardonably obscure. 

He thinks, with Bacchus — (you remember, D’A , the 

line in Euripides, which I will not quote), that ‘there is 

* Often of all our ills the worst is reason. 

l.— H 


158 


P E L II A M ; OK, 


something august in the shades ; ’ but he has applied this 
thought wrongly — in his obscurity there is nothing sublime 

— it is the back-ground of a Dutch picture. It is only a 
red herring, or an old hat, which he has invested with 
such pomposity of shadow and darkness.” 

“But his verses are so smooth,” said Lady . 

“Ah ! ” answered Vincent. 

“ * Quand la rime enfin se trouve au bout des vers, 

Qu’ importe que le reste y soit mis de travers?’ ” * 

“ Helas!” said the Viscount d’A — , an author of no 
small celebrity himself; “I agree with you — we shall 
never again see a Voltaire or a Rousseau.” 

“There is but little justice in those complaints, often 
as they are made,” replied Vincent. “You may not, it 
is true, see a Voltaire or a Rousseau, but you will see 
their equals. Genius can never be exhausted by one 
individual. In our country, the poets after Chaucer in 
the fifteenth century complained of the decay of their art 

— they did not anticipate Shakspeare. In Hayley’s time, 
who ever dreamt of the ascension of Byron ? Yet Shak- 
speare and Byron came like the bridegroom ‘in the dead 
of night ; ’ and you have the same probability of producing 
— not, indeed, another Rousseau, but a writer to do equal 
honor to your literature.” 

“ I think,” said Lady , “ that Rousseau’s ‘ Julie ’ is 

over-rated. I had heard so much of ‘La Youvelle He^ 
loise ’ when I was a girl, and been so often told that it 

• No matter what the stuff, if good the rhyme — 

The rubble stands cemented with the lime. — Paraphrase, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 159 

was destruction to read it, that I bought the book the 
very day after I was married. I own to you that I could 
uot get through it.” 

“ I am not surprised at it,” answered Vincent ; “ but 
Rousseau is not the less a genius for all that. There is 
no plot in his novel to bear out the style, and he himself 
is right when he says, ‘this book will suit few readers.’ 
One letter would delight every one — four volumes of them 
are a surfeit — it is the toujours perdrix. But the chief 
beauty of that wonderful conception of an impassioned 
and meditative mind is to be found in the inimitable man- 
ner in which the thoughts are embodied, and in the ten- 
derness, the truth, the profundity of the thoughts them- 
selves. When Lord Edouard says, ‘ c'est le chemin des 
passions qui m'a conduit d la philosophic?* he inculcates, 
in one simple phrase, a profound and unanswerable truth. 
It is in these remarks that nature is chiefly found in the 
writings of Rousseau. Too much engrossed in himself 
to be deeply skilled in the characters of others, that very 
self-study had yet given him a knowledge of the more 
hidden recesses of the heart. He could perceive at once 
the motive and the cause of actions, but he wanted the 
patience to trace the elaborate and winding progress of 
their effects. He saw the passions in their home, but he 
could not follow them abroad. He knew mankind in the 
general, but not men in the detail. Thus, when he makes 
an aphorism, or reflection, it comes home at once to jou 

* It is the path of the passions which has conducted me to phi- 
losophy. 


160 


PELHAM; OR, 


as true ; but when he would analyze that reflection — 
when he argues, reasons, and attempts to prove, you reject 
him as unnatural, or you refute him as false. It is then 
that he partakes of that manie commune which he imputes 
to other philosophers, ‘ de nier ce qui est, et d'expliquer 
ce qui n’est pas.’ v * 

There was a short pause. “I think, ” said Madame 
d’Anville, “ that it is in those reflections which you admire 
so much in Rousseau, that our authors in general excel.” 

“You are right,” said Vincent, “and for this reason — 
with you, men of letters are nearly always men of the 
world. Hence their quick perceptions are devoted to 
human beings as well as to books. They make observa- 
tions acutely, and embody them with grace ; but it is 
worth remarking, that the same cause which produced the 
aphorism, frequently prevents its being profound. These 
literary gens du mode have the tact to observe, but not 
the patience, perhaps not the time, to investigate. They 
make the maxim, but they never explain to you the train 
of reasoning which led to it. Hence they are more bril- 
liant than true. An English writer will seldom dare to 
make a maxim, involving, perhaps, in two lines, one of 
the most important of moral problems, without bringing 
pages to support his dictum. A French essayist leaves 
it wholly to itself. He tells you neither how he came by 
his reasons, nor their conclusion ; ‘ le plus fou souvent 
est le plus satisfait .’ f Consequently, if less tedious th&o 

* To deny that which is, and explain that which is not. 

f He who has the least sense is the most satisfied. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


161 


the English, your reasoners are more dangerous, and ought 
rather to be considered as models of terseness than of re- 
flection. A man might learn to think sooner from your 
writers, but he will learn to think justly sooner from ours. 
Many observations of La Bruyere and Rochefoucault — 
the latter especially — have obtained credit for truth solely 
from their point. They possess exactly the same merit as 
the very sensible — permit me to add — very French line 
in Corneille : — 

‘ Ma plus douce csp^rance e3t de perdre l’espoir.’ ” * 

The marquis took advantage of the silence which fol- 
lowed Vincent’s criticism, to rise from table. We all 
(except Vincent, who took leave) adjourned to the salon. 
“ Qui est cet homme Id ?” said one, “ comme it est epris 
de lui-meme / ” “ How silly he is,” cried another — “ How 
ugly ,” said a third. “What a taste in literature — such 
a talker — such shallowness, and such assurance — not 
worth the answering — could not slip in a word — disa- 
greeable, revolting, awkward, slovenly,” were the most 
complimentary opinions bestowed upon the unfortunate 
Vincent. The old railed at his mauvais gout, and the 
young at his mauvais cceur , for the former always attribute 
whatever does not correspond with their sentiments, to a 
perversion of taste ; and the latter, whatever does not 
come up to their enthusiasm, to a depravity of heart. 

As for me, I went home, enriched with two new obser< 

f 

* My sweetest hoping is to forfeit hope. 


14 * 


L 


162 


PELHAM; OR, 


vations ; first, that one may not speak of anything relative 
to a foreign country, as one would if one were a native. 
National censures become particular affronts. Secondly, 
that those who know mankind in theory, seldom know it 
in practice ; the very wisdom that conceives a rule, is 
accompanied with the abstraction, or the vanity, which 
destroys it. I mean, that the philosopher of the cabinet 
is often too diffident to put into action his observations, 
or too eager for display to conceal their design. Lord 
Yincent values himself upon his science du monde. He 
has read much upon men, he has reflected more ; he lays 
down aphorisms to govern or to please them. He goes 
into society ; he is cheated by the one half, and the other 
half he offends. The sage in the cabinet is but a fool in 
the salon ; and the most consummate men of the world 
are those who have considered the least on it. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


165 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Falstaff . — What money is in my purse? 

Page . — Seven groats and two-pence . — Second Part of Ilenry IV. 

En iterum Crispinus! 

The next day a note was brought me which had been 
sent to my former lodgings in the Hotel de Paris : it was 
from Thornton. 

“My dear Sir,” (it began) 

“ I am very sorry that particular business will prevent 
me the pleasure of seeing you at my rooms on Saturday. 
I hope to be more fortunate some other day. I should 
be glad to introduce you, the first opportunity, to my 
friends in the Rue Gretry, for I like obliging my country- 
men. I am sure, if you were to go there, you would cut 
and come again — one shoulder of mutton drives down 
another. 

“ I beg you to accept my repeated excuses, and remain, 

“ Dear Sir, 

“ Your very obedient servant, 
“ Thomas Thornton. 

“Rue St. Dominique, 

Friday Morning.” 

This letter produced in me many and manifold cogita- 
tions. What could possibly have induced Mr. Tom 


164 


PELHAM; OR, 


Thornton, rogue as he was, to postpone thus of his own 
accord, the plucking of a pigeon, which he had such good 
reason to believe he had entrapped ? There was evi- 
dently no longer the same avidity to cultivate my acquaint- 
ance as before ; in putting off our appointment with so 
little ceremony, he did not even fix a day for another 
meeting. What had altered his original designs towards 
me ? for if Vincent’s account were true, it was natural to 
suppose that he wished to profit by any acquaintance he 
might form with me, and therefore such an acquaintance 
his own interests would induce him to continue and confirm. 

Either, then, he no longer had the same necessity for 
a dupe, or he no longer imagined I should become one. 
Yet neither of these suppositions was probable. It was 

not likely that he should grow suddenly honest, or suddenly 

% 

rich : nor had I, on the other hand, given him any reason 
to suppose I was a jot more wary than any other individual 
he might have imposed upon. On the contrary, I had 
appeared to seek his acquaintance with an eagerness 
which said but little for my knowledge of the w'orld. The 
more I reflected, the more I should have been puzzled, 
had I not connected his present backwardness with his 
acquaintance with the stranger, whom he termed Warbur- 
ton. It is true, that I had no reason to suppose so : it 
was a conjecture wholly unsupported, and, indeed, against 
my better sense ; yet, from some unanalyzed associations, 
I could not divest myself of the supposition. 

“I will soon see,” thought I ; and, wrapping myself in 
my cloak, for the day was bitterly cold, I bent my way to 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 160 

Thornton’s lodgings. I could not explain to myself the 
deep interest I took in whatever was connected with (the 
so-called) Warburton, or whatever promised to discover 
more clearly any particulars respecting him. His behavior 
in the gambling-house ; his conversation with the woman 
in the Jardin des Plantes ; and the singular circumstance, 
that a man of so very aristocratic an appearance should 
be connected with Thornton, and only seen in such low 
scenes, and with such low society, would not have been 
sufficient so strongly to occupy my mind, had it not been 
for certain dim recollections, and undefinable associations, 
that his appearance when present, and my thoughts of 
him when absent, perpetually recalled. 

As, engrossed with meditations of this nature, I was 
passing over the Point Neuf, I perceived the man whom 
Warburton had so earnestly watched in the gambling- 
house, and whom my conjectures identified with the “ Tyr- 
rell,” who had formed the subject of conversation in the 
Jardin des Plantes , pass slowdy before me. There was 
an appearance of great exhaustion in his swarthy and 
strongly-marked countenance. He walked carelessly on, 
neither looking to the right nor the left, with that air of 
thought and abstraction common to all men in the habit 
of indulging any engrossing and exciting passion. 

We were just on the other side of the Seine , when I 
perceived the woman of the Jardin des Plantes approach. 
Tyrrell (for that, I afterwards discovered, was really his 
name) started as she came near, and asked her in a tone 
of some asperity, where she had been ? As I was but a 


166 


PELHAM; OR, 


few paces behind, I had a clear, full view of the woman’s 
countenance. She was about twenty-eight or thirty years 
of age. Her features were decidedly handsome, though 
somewhat too sharp and aquiline. Her eyes were light 
and rather sunken ; and her complexion bespoke somewhat 
of the paleness and languor of ill-health. On the whole, 
the expression of her face, though decided, was not un- 
pleasing, and when she returned Tyrrell’s rather rude 
salutation, it was with a smile, which made her, for the 
moment, absolutely beautiful. 

“Where have I been to? ’’she said, in answer to his 
interrogatory ; “ Why, I went to look at the New Church, 
which they told me was so superbe .” 

“Methinks,” replied the man, “that ours are not pre 
cisely the circumstances in which such spectacles are 
amusing.” 

“Nay, Tyrrell,” said the woman, as, taking his arm, 
they walked on together a few paces before me, “nay, 
we are quite rich now to what we have been ; and, if you 
do play again, our two hundred pounds may swell into a 
fortune. Your losses have brought you skill, and you 
may now turn them into actual advantages.” 

Tyrrell did not reply exactly to these remarks, but 
appeared as if debating with himself. “Two hundred 
pounds — twenty already gone ! — in a few months, all will 
have melted away. What is it then now but a respite from 
starvation ? — but with luck it may become a competence.” 
“And why not have luck? many a fortune has been 
made with a worse beginning,” said the woman. 


ADVENTURES OE A GENTLEMAN. 1G! 

“ True, Margaret,” pursued the gambler, “ and ever 
without luck, our fate can only commence a month or 
two sooner — better a short doom than a lingering torture.” 
“ What think you of trying some new game where you 
have more experience, or where the chances are greater 
than in that of rouge et noir ? ” asked the woman. 
“ Could you not make something out of that tall, handsome 
man, who, Thornton says, is so rich ? ” 

“Ah, if one could ! ” sighed Tyrrell, wistfully. “ Thorn- 
ton tells me, that he has won thousands from him, and 
that they are mere drops in his income. Thornton is a 
good, easy, careless fellow, and might let me into a share of 
the booty ; but then, in what games can I engage him ? ” 
Here I passed this well-suited pair, and lost the re- 
mainder of their conversation. “Well,” thought I, “if this 
precious personage does starve at last, he will most richly 
deserve it, partly for his designs on the stranger, principally 
for his opinion of Thornton. If he were a knave only, one 
might pity him ; but a knave and fool both, are a combi- 
nation of evil, for which there is no intermediate purgatory 
of opinion — nothing short of utter damnation.” 

I soon arrived at Mr. Thornton’s abode. The same old 
woman, poring over the same novel of Crebillon, made 
me the same reply as before ; and accordingly again I 
ascended the obscure and rugged stairs, which seemed 
to indicate, that the road to vice is not so easy as one 
generally supposes. I knocked at the door, and, receiving 
no answering acknowledgment, opened it at once. The 
first thing I saw was the dark, rough coat of Warburton ; 


168 


PELHAM; OR, 


that person’s back was turned to me, and he was talking 
with some energy to Thornton (who lounged idly in a 
chair, with one ungartered leg thrown over the elbow). 

“Ah, Mr. Pelham,” exclaimed the latter, starting from 
his not very graceful position, “ it gives me great pleasure 
to see you — Mr. Warburton, Mr. Pelham — Mr. Pelham, 
Mr. Warburton.” 

My new-made and mysterious acquaintance drew himself 
up to his full height, and bowed very slightly to my own 
acknowledgment of the introduction. A low person 
would have thought him rude. I only supposed him 
ignorant of the world. No man of the world is uncivil. 
He turned round, after this stiff condescension, and sank 
down on the sofa, with his back towards me. 

“I was mistaken,” thought I, “when I believed him to 
be above such associates as Thornton — they are well 
matched.” 

“My dear sir,” said Thornton, “I am very sorry I 
could not see you to breakfast — a particular engagement 
prevented me — verbum sap. Mr. Pelham, you take me, 
I suppose — black eyes, white skin, and such an ankle!” 
and the fellow rubbed his great hands and chuckled. 

“Well,” said I, “I cannot blame you, whatever may 
be my loss — a dark eye and a straight ankle are powerful 
excuses. What says Mr. Warburton to them?” and I 
turned to the object of my interrogatory. 

“ Really, ” he answered drily, (but in a voice that struck 
me as feigned and artificial,) and without moving from 
his uncourteous position, “ Mr. Thornton only can judge 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 169 

of the niceties of his peculiar tastes, or the justice of his 
general excuses.” 

Mr. Warburton said this in a sarcastic bitter tone. 
Thornton bit his lips, more, I should think, at the manner 
than the words, and his small grey eyes sparkled with a 
malignant and stern expression, which suited the character 
of his face far better than the careless levity which his 
glances usually denoted. 

“ They are no such great friends after all,” thought I ; 
° and let me change my attack. Pray,” I asked, “ among 
all your numerous acquaintances at Paris, did you evei 
meet with a Mr. Tyrrell ? ” 

Warburton started from his chair, and as instantly re- 
seated himself. Thornton eyed me with one of those 
peculiar looks which so strongly reminded me of a dog, 
in deliberation whether to bite or run away. 

“ I do know a Mr. Tyrrell ! ” he said, after a short 
pause. 

“ What sort of a person is he ? ” I asked, with an indif- 
ferent air — “a great gamester, is he not?” 

“ He does slap it down on the colors now and then,” 
replied Thornton. “ I hope you don’t know him, Mr 
Pelham ! ” 

“ Why ? ” said I, evading the question. “ His charactei 
is not affected by a propensity so common, unless, indeed, 
you suppose him to be more a gambler than a gamester, 
viz., more acute than unlucky.” 

“ Heaven forbid that I should say any such thing,” 

I. — 15 


170 PELHAM; OR, 

replied Thornton; “you won’t catch an old lawyer in 
such imprudence.” 

“ The greater the truth, the greater the libel,” said 
Warburton, with a sneer. 

“No,” resumed Thornton, “I know nothing against 
Mr. Tyrrell — nothing! He may he a very good man, 
and I believe he is ; but as a friend, Mr. Pelham, (and 
Mr. Thornton grew quite affectionate), I advise you to 
have as little as possible to do with that sort of jwople.” 
“Truly,” said I, “you have now excited my curiosity. 
Nothing, you know, is- half so inviting as mystery.” 
Thornton looked as if he had expected a very different 
reply; and Warburton said, in an abrupt tone — 

“Whoever enters an unknown road in a fog may easily 
lose himself.” 

“ True,” said I ; “ but that very chance is more agreeable 
than a road where one knows every tree ! Danger and 
novelty are more to my taste than safety and sameness. 
Besides, as I rarely gamble myself, I can lose little by an 
acquaintance with those who do.” 

Another pause ensued — and, finding I had got all 
from Mr. Thornton and his uncourteous guest that I wag 
likely to do, I took my hat and my departure. 

“I do not know,” thought I, “whether I have profited 
much by this visit. Let me consider. In the first place, 
I have not ascertained why I was put off by Mr. Thornton 
. — for as to his excuse, it could only have availed one day, 
and had he been anxious for my acquaintance, he would 
have named another. I have, however, discovered, first. 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN 11 i 

that he does not wish me to form any connection with 
Tyrrell; secondly, from Warburton’s sarcasm, and his 
glance of reply, that there is but little friendship between 
those two, whatever be the intimacy ; and, thirdly, that 
Warburton, from his dorsal positions, so studiously pre- 
served, either wished to be uncivil or unnoticed.” The 
latter, after all, was the most probable supposition ; and, 
upon the whole, I felt more than ever convinced that be 
was the person I suspected him to be. 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

Tell how the fates my giddy course did guide, 

The inconstant turns of every changing hour. 

Pierce Gaveslon, by M. Drayton 

Je me retire done. — Adieu, Paris, adieu! — Boileau. 

When I returned' home, I found on my table the 
following letter from my mother : — 

“ My dear Henry, 

“I am rejoiced to hear you are so well entertained at 

Paris — that you have been so often to the D s and 

C s; that Coulon says you are his best pupil — that 

your favorite horse is so much admired — and that you 
have only exceeded your allowance by £1,000. With some 
difficulty I have persuaded your uncle to transmit you 
an order for 1,500Z., which will, I trust, make up all your 
deficiencies. 


172 


PELHAM; OR, 


° You must not, my dear child, be so extravagant for 
the future, and for a very good reason, viz., I do not see 
how you can. Your uncle, I fear, will not again be so 
generous, and your father cannot assist you. You will 
therefore see more clearly than ever the necessity of 
marrying an heiress : there are only two in England (the 
daughters of gentlemen) worthy of you — the jnost de- 
serving of these has 10,000Z. a year, the other has 100,000Z. 
The former is old, ugly, and very ill-tempered ; the latter 
tolerably pretty, and agreeable, and just of age ; but you 
will perceive the impropriety of even thinking of her till 
we have tried the other. I am going to ask both to my 
Sunday soirees , where I never admit any single men, so 
that there , at least, you will have no rivals. 

“And now, my dear son, before I enter into a subject 
of great importance to you, I wish to recall to your mind 
that pleasure is never au end, but a means — viz., that in 
your horses and amusements at Paris — your visits anu 
your liaisons — you have always, I trust, remembered that 
these were only so far desirable as the methods of shining 
in society. I have now a new scene on which you are to 
enter, with very different objects in view, and where any 
pleasures you may find have nothing the least in common 
with those you at present enjoy. 

“ I know that this preface will not frighten you, as it 
might many silly young men. Your education has been 
too carefully attended to, for you to imagine that any step 
can be rough or unpleasant which raises you in the world. 

“ To come at once to the point. One of the seats in 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 1T2 

your uncle’s borough of Buyeraall is every day expected 
to be vacated ; the present member, Mr. Toolington, can- 
not possibly live a week, and your uncle is very desirous 
that you should fill the vacancy which Mr. Toolington’s 
death will create. Though I called it Lord Glenmorris’s 
borough, yet it is not entirely at his disposal, which I 
think very strange, since my father, who was not half so 
rich as your uncle, could send two members to Parliament 
without the least trouble in the world — but I don’t un- 
derstand these matters. Possibly your uncle (poor man) 
does not manage them well. However, he says no time is to 
be lost. You are to return immediately to England, and 

3ome do wn to his house in shire. It is supposed you will 

have some contest, but be certain eventually to come in. 

“You will also, in this visit to Lord Glenmorris, have 
an excellent opportunity of securing his affection ; you 
know it is some time since he saw you, and the greater 
part of his property is unentailed. If you come into the 
House, you must devote yourself wholly to it, and I have 
no fear of your succeeding ; for I remember, when you 
were quite a child, how well you spoke ‘ My name is 
Norval,’ and ‘Romans, countrymen, and lovers,’ &c. I 
heard Mr. Canning speak the other day, and I think his 
voice is quite like yours. In short, I make no doubt of 
seeing you in the ministry in a very few years. 

“ Y ou see, my dear son, that it is absolutely necessary you 

should set out immediately. You will call on Lady , 

and you will endeavor to make firm friends of the most 
desirable among your present acquaintance ; so that you 
40 * 


174 


PELHAM; OR, 

may be on the same footing you are now, should you return 
to Paris. This a little civility will easily do ; nobody (as 
I before observed), except in England, ever loses by po- 
liteness ; — by-the-by, that last word is one you must 
never use — it is too Gloucester -place like . 

“You will also be careful, in returning to England, to 
make very little use of French phrases ; no vulgarity is 
more unpleasing. I could not help being exceedingly 
amused by a book written the other day, which professes 
to give an accurate description of good society. Not 
knowing what to make us say in English, the author has 
made us talk nothing but French. I have often wondered 
what common people think of us, since in their novels 
they always affect to portray us so different from them- 
selves. I am very much afraid we are in all things exactly 
like them, except in being more simple and unaffected. 
The higher the rank, indeed, the less pretence, because 
there is less to pretend to. This is the chief reason why 
our manners are better than low persons : ours are more 
natural, because they imitate no one else; theirs are affected, 
because they think to imitate ours ; and whatever is evi- 
dently borrowed becomes vulgar. Original affectation is 
sometimes good ton , — imitated affectation, always bad. 

“ Well, my dear Henry, I must now conclude this letter, 
already too long to be interesting. I hope to see you 
about ten days after you receive this ; and if you car. bring 
me a Cachemire shawl, it would give me great pleasure to 
see your taste in its choice. God bless you, my dear son 
“Your very affectionate, 

“Frances Pelham.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 1?5 

“ P. S. I hope you go to church sometimes : I am sorry 
.o see the young men of the present day so irreligious ; it 
is very bad taste ! Perhaps you could get my old friend, 

Madame dc , to choose the Cachemire ; — take care 

of your health.” 

This letter, which I read carefully twice over, threw me 
iuto a most serious meditation. My first feeling was regret 
at leaving Paris ; my second, was a certain exultation at 
the new prospects so unexpectedly opened to me. The 
great aim of a philosopher is, to reconcile every disadvan- 
tage by some counterbalance of good ; where he cannot 
create this, he should imagine it. I began, therefore, to 
consider less what I should lose than what I should gain, 
by quitting Paris. In the first place, I was tolerably tired 
of its amusements : no business is half so fatiguing as 
pleasure. I longed for a change : behold, a change was 
at hand ! Then, to say truth,- 1 was heartily glad of a 
pretence for escaping from a numerous cohort of folles 
amours , with Madame d’Anville at the head ; and the 
very circumstance which men who play the German flute 
and fall in love would have considered the most vexatious, 
I regarded as the most consolatory. 

My mind being thus relieved from its primary regret at 
ray departure, I now suffered it to look forward to the 
advantages of my return to England. My love of excite- 
ment and variety made an election, in which I was to have 
both the importance of the contest and the certainty of 
tne success, a very agreeable object of anticipation. 


176 


PELHAM; OR, 


I was also by this time wearied with my attendance 
upon women, and eager to exchange it for the ordinary 
objects of ambition to men : and my vanity whispered that 
my success in the one was no unfavorable omen of my 
prosperity in the other. On my return to England, with a 
new scene and a new motive for conduct, I resolved that 
I would commence a different character from that I had 
hitherto assumed. How far I kept this resolution the 
various events hereafter to be shown will testify. For 
myself, I felt that I was now about to enter a more crowded 
scene upon a more elevated ascent ; and my previous ex- 
perience of human nature was sufficient to convince me 
that my safety required a more continual circumspection, 
and my success a more dignified bearing. 


CHAPTER XXYII. 

Je noterai cela, madame, dans mon livre. — Moliebe. 

I am not one of those persons who are many days in 
deciding what may be effected in one. “ On the third day 
from this,” said I to Bedos, “ at half-past nine in the 
morning, I shall leave Paris for England.” 

“ Oh, my poor wife ! ” said the valet, “ she will break 
her heart if I leave her.” 

“Then stay,” said I. Bedos shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I prefer being with Monsieur to all things.” 

“ What, even to your wife ? ” The courteous rascal 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 177 

placed his hand to his heart and bowed. “ You shall not 
Buffer by your fidelity — you shall take your wife with you.” 
The conjugal valet’s countenance fell. “ No,” he said, 
— “ he could not take advantage of Monsieur’s generosity.” 
“I insist upon it — not another word.” 

“ 1 beg a thousand pardons of Monsieur ; but — but my 
wife is very ill, and unable to travel.” 

“ Then, in that case, so excellent a husband cannot 
think of leaving a sick and destitute wife.” 

“Poverty has no law; if I consulted my heart, and 
stayed, I should starve, et ilfaut vivre 

“ Je n'en vois pas la necessite” f replied I, as I got 
into my carriage. That repartee, by the way, I cannot 
claim as my own ; it is the very unanswerable answer of a 
judge to an expostulating thief. 

I made the round of reciprocal regrets, according to * 
the orthodox formula. The Duchesse de Perpignan was 
the last; — (Madame d’Anville I reserved for another day) 
— that virtuous and wise personage was in the boudoir 
of reception. I glanced at the fatal door as I entered. I 
have a great aversion, after any thing has once happened 
* and fairly subsided, to make any allusion to its former 
existence. I never, therefore, talked to the Duchess about 
our ancient egaremens. I spoke, this morning, of the 
marriage of one person, the death of another, and lastly, 
the departure of my individual self. 

“ When do you go ? ” she said, eagerly. 

* One must live. 

j- 1 don’t see the necessity of that. 

M 


ns 


PELHAM; OR, 


In two days : my departure will be softened, if I can 
execute any commissions in England for Madame.” 

“ None,” said she ; and then in a low tone (that none 
of the idlers, who were always found at her morning levees , 
should hear), she added, “you will receive a note from 
me this evening.” 

I bowed, changed the conversation, and withdrew. I 
dined in my own rooms, and spent the evening in looking 
over the various billets-doux , received during my sejour 
at Paris. 

“Where shall I put all these locks of hair?” asked 
Bedos, opening a drawer-full. 

“ Into my scrap-book.” 

“And all these letters?” 

“Into the fire.” 

I was just getting into bed when the Duchesse de 
Perpignan’s note arrived — it was as follows: — 

“ My dear Friend, 

“ For that word, so doubtful in our language, I may at 
least call you in your own. I am unwilling that you should 
leave this country with those sentiments you now entertain 
of me, unaltered, yet I cannot imagine any form of words 
of sufficient magic to change them. Oh ! if you knew how 
much I am to be pitied ; if you could look for one moment 
into this lonely and blighted heart ; if you could trace, 
step by step, the progress I have made in folly and sin, 
you would see how much of what you now condemn and 
despise, I have owed to circumstances, rather than to the 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 1.7 V 

vice of my disposition. I was born a beauty, educated a 
beauty, owed fame, rank, power to beauty ; and it is to 
the advantages I have derived from person that I owe the 
ruin of my mind. You have seen how much I now derive 
from art ; I loathe myself as I write that sentence ; but no 
matter : from that moment you loathed me too. You did 
not take into consideration that I had been living on ex- 
citement all my youth, and that in my maturer years I 
could not relinquish it. I had reigned by my attractions, 
and I thought every art preferable to resigning my empire : 
but, in feeding my vanity, I had not been able to stifle the 
dictates of my heart. Love is so natural to a woman, that 
she is scarcely a woman who resists it : but in me it has 
been a sentiment, not a passion. 

“ Sentiment, then, and vanity, have been my seducers. 
I said, that I owed my errors to circumstances, not to 
nature. You will say, that in confessing love and vanity 
to be my seducers, I contradict this assertion — you are 
mistaken. I mean, that though vanity and sentiment were 
in me, yet the scenes in which I have been placed, and 
the events which I have witnessed, gave to those latent 
currents of action a wrong and a dangerous direction. I 
was formed to love; for one whom I did love I could 
have made every sacrifice. I married a man I hated, and 
1 only learnt the depths of my heart when it was too late. 

“ Enough of this ; you will leave this country ; we shall 
never meet again — never! You may return to Paris, 
but I shall then be no more; nHmporte — I shall be un- 
changed to the last. Je mourrai en reine. 


180 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ As a latest pledge of what I have felt for you, I send 
you the enclosed chain and ring ; as a latest favor, I 
request you to wear them for six months, and, above all, 
for two hours in the Tuileries to-morrow. You will laugh 
at this request: it seems idle and romantic — perhaps it 
is so. Love has many exaggerations in sentiment, which 
reason would despise. What wonder, then, that mine, 
above that of all others, should conceive them ? You will 
not, I know, deny this request. Farewell ! — in this world 
we shall never meet again. Farewell 1 

“ E. P.” 

“A most sensible effusion,” said I to myself, when I 
had read this billet ; “ and yet, after all, it shows more 
feeling and more character than I could have supposed 
she possessed.” I took up the chain : it was of Maltese 
workmanship ; not very handsome, nor, indeed, in any 
way remarkable, except for a plain hair ring which was 
attached to it, and which I found myself unable to take 
off, without breaking. “ It is a very singular request,” 
thought I, “but then it comes from a very singular person : 
and as it rather partakes of adventure and intrigue, I 
shall at all events appear in the Tuileries to-morrow, 
chained and ringed .” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 181 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Thy incivility shall not make me fail to do what becomes me ; 
and since thou hast more valor than courtesy, I for thee will hazard 
that life which thou wouldst take from me. — Cassandra, “ elegantly 
done into English by Sir Charles Cotterell.” 

About the usual hour for the promenade in the Tuileries, 
I conveyed myself thither. I set the chain and ring in 
full display, rendered still more conspicuous by the dark- 
colored dress which I always wore. I had not been in the 
gardens ten minutes, before I perceived a young French- 
man, scarcely twenty years of age, look with a very peculiar 
air at my new decorations. He passed and repassed me, 
much oftenerthan the alternations of the walk warranted ; 
and at last, taking off his hat, said in a low tone, that he 
wished much for the honor of exchanging a few words 
with me in private. I saw, at the first glance, that he was 
a gentleman, and accordingly withdrew with him among 
the trees, in the more retired part of the garden. 

“ Permit me,” said he, “ to inquire how that ring and 
chain came into your possession ? ” 

“ Monsieur,” I replied, “ you will understand me, when 
I say, that the honor of another person is implicated in 
my concealment of that secret.” 

“ Sir,” said the Frenchman, coloring violently, “I hava 
seen them before — in a word, they belong to me!” 

I. — 16 


182 


PELHAM; OR, 


I smiled — -my young hero fired at this. I 11 Oui, Mon- 
sieur ,” said he, speaking very loud, and very quick, “ they 
belong to me, and I insist upon your immediately restoring 
them, or vindicating your claim to them by arms.” 

“ You leave me but one answer, Monsieur,” said I ; “ I 
will find a friend to wait upon you immediately. Allow 
me to inquire your address ? ” The Frenchman, who was 
greatly agitated, produced a card. We bowed and sepa- 
rated. 

I was glancing over the address I held in my hand, 
which was — G. de Vautran , Rue de Bourbon, Numero 
, when my ears were saluted with — 


ViiTcent. “ My dear fellow,” said I, “ I am rejoicedfto see 
you ! ” and thereupon I poured into his ear the particulars 
of my morning adventure. Lord Vincent listened to me 
with much apparent interest, and spoke very unaffectedly 
of his readiness to serve me, and his regret at the occasion. 

“Pooh !” said I, “a duel in France is not like one in 
England ; the former is a matter of course ; a trifle of 
common occurrence ; one makes an engagement to fight, 
in the same breath as an engagementto dine ; but the latter 
is a thing of state and solemnity — long faces — early rising 
— and will-making. But do get this business over as soon 
as you can, that we may dine at the Rocker afterwards.” 

“Well, my dear Pelham,” said Vincent, “I cannot 
refuse you my services ; and as I suppose Monsieur de 


Now do you know 



I did not require the faculty of sight to recognise Lord 


183 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 

Vautran will choose swords, I venture to augur every 
thing from your skill in that species of weapon. It is the 
first time I htve ever interfered in affairs of this nature, 
hut I hope to get well through the present. 

* Nobilis ornatur lauro collega secundo.' 

as Juvenal says ; au revoir ” and away went Lord Yincent, 
half forgetting all his late anxiety for my life in his paternal 
pleasure for the delivery of his quotation. 

Yingent is the only punster I ever knew with a good 
heart. No action, to that race in general, is so serious an 
occupation as the play upon words ; and the remorseless 
habit of murdering a phrase, renders them perfectly obdu- 
rate to the simple death of a friend. I walked through every 
variety the straight paths of the Tuileries could afford, and 
was beginning to get exceedingly tired, when Lord Yincent 
returned. He looked very grave, and I saw at once that he 
was come to particularize the circumstances of the last 
extreme. “The Bois de Boulogne — pistols — in one 
hour,” were the three leading features of his detail. 

“ Pistols ! ” said I ; “ well, be it so. I would rather 
have had swords, for the young man’s sake as much as my 
own ; but thirteen paces and a steady aim will settle the 
business as soon. We will try a bottle of the Chambertin 
to-day, Yincent.” The punster smiled faintly, and for once 
in his life made no reply. We walked gravely and soberly 
to my lodgings for the pistols, and then proceeded to the 
engagement as silently as philosophers should do. 

The Frenchman and his second were on the ground 


184 


PELHAM; OR, 

first. I saw that the former was pale and agitated, not, 1 
think, from fear, but passion. When we took our ground, 
Vincent came to me, and said, in a low tone, “ For Hea- 
ven’s sake, suffer me to accommomodate this, if possible ! ” 

“ It is not in our power,” said I, receiving the pistol. 
I looked steadily at de Vautran, and took my aim. Hia 
pistol, owing, I suppose, to the trembling of his hand, 
went off a moment sooner than he had anticipated — the 
ball grazed my hat. My aim was more successful — I struck 
him in the shoulder — the exact place I had inteneded. 
He staggered a few paces, but did not fall. 

We hastened towards him — his cheek assumed a still 
more livid hue as I approached ! he muttered some half- 
formed curses between his teeth, and turned from me to 
his second. 

“ You will inquire whether Monsieur de Vautran is 
satisfied,” said I to Vincent, and retired to a short distance. 

“ His second,” said Vincent, (after a brief conference 
with that person,) “ replies to my question, that Monsieur 
de Vautran ’s wound has left him, for the present, no alter- 
native.” Upon this answer I took Vincent’s arm, and we 
returned forthwith to my carriage. 

“ I congratulate you most sincerely on the event of 

this duel,” said Vincent. “Monsieur de M (deVau- 

tran’s second) informed me, when I waited on him, that 
your antagonist was one of the most celebrated pistol shots 
in Paris, and that a lady with whom he had been long in 
love, made the death of the chain-bearer the price of her 
favors. Devilish lucky for you, my good fellow, that his 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 185 

hand trembled so ; but I did not know you were so good 
a shot.” 

“Why,” I answered, “I am not what is vulgarly termed ‘ a 
crack shot’ — I cannot split a bullet on a penknife; but 1 
am sure of a target somewhat smaller than a man : and 
ray hand is as certain in the field as it is in the practice- 
yard.” 

“Le sentiment de nos forces les augmented * replied 
Vincent. “ Shall I tell the coachman to drive to the 
Rocher ? ” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Here’s a kind host, that makes the invitation, 

To your own cost, to his fort bonne collation. 

Wycherly’s Gent. Dancing Master. 

Vous pouvez bien juger que je n’aurai pas grande peine d me 
consoler d’une chose dont je me suis deja consol^ tante de fois. — 
Lettres de Boileau. 

As I was walking home with Vincent from the Rue 
Mont-orgueil, I saw, on entering the Rue St. Honore, two 
figures before us ; the tall and noble stature of the one I 
could not for a moment mistake. They stopped at the 
door of an hotel, which opened in that noiseless manner so 
peculiar to the Gonciergerie of France. I was at the door 


* The conviction of our forces augments them. 

16 * 


J.86 


PELHAM; OR, 


the moment they disappeared', but not before I had caught 
a glance of the dark locks and pale countenance of War- 
burton, — my eye fell upon the number of the hotel. 

Surely,” said I, “ I have been in that house before.” 
“ Likely enough,” growled Vincent, who was gloriously 
drunk. “ It is a house of two-fold utility — you may play 
with cards, or coquet with women, which you please.” 
At these words I remembered the hotel and its inmates 
immediately. It belonged to an old nobleman, who, though 
on the brink of the grave, was still grasping at the good 
things on the margin. He lived with a pretty and clever 
woman, who bore the name and honors of his wife. They 
kept up two salons, one pour le petit souper, andtheother 
pour le petit jeu. You saw much ecarte and more love- 
making, and lost your heart and your money with equal 
facility. In a word, the marquis and his jolie petite femme 
were a wise and prosperous couple, who made the best of 
their lives, and lived decently and honorably upon other 
people. 

“Allons, Pelham,” cried Vincent, as I was still standing 
at the door in deliberation ; “ how much longer will you 

keep me to congeal in this * eager and nipping air y 

‘ Quamdiu patientiam nostram abutere, Catilina.’” 

“ Let us enter,” said I. “ I have the run of the house, 
and we may find ” 

“ ‘ Some young vices — some fair iniquities/ ” interrupted 
Vincent, with a hiccup — 

“‘Leade on, good fellowe,’ quoth Robin Hood, 

‘Lead on, I do bid thee.’ ” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. IS** 

And with these words, the door opened in obedience 
to my rap, and we mounted to the marquis’s tenement au 
premiere. 

The room was pretty full — the soidisanfe marquis was 
flitting from table to table — betting at each, and coquet- 
ting with all ; and the marquis himself, with a moist eye 
and a shaking hand, was affecting the Don Juan with the 
various Elviras and Annas with which his salon was 
crowded. Vincent was trying to follow me through the 
crowd, but his confused vision and unsteady footing led 
him from one entanglement to another, till he was quite 
unable to proceed. A tall, corpulent Frenchman, six foot 
by five, was leaning, (a great and weighty objection,) just 
before him, utterly occupied in the vicissitudes of an eearte 
table, and unconscious of Vincent’s repeated efforts, first 
on one side, and then on the other, to pass him. 

At last, the perplexed wit, getting more irascible as h« 
grew more bewildered, suddenly seized the vast incum- 
brance by the arm, and said to him, in a sharp, querulous 
tone, “Pray, Monsieur, why are you like the lote-tree in 
Mahomet’s Seventh heaven ? ” 

“Sir!” cried the astonished Frenchman. 

“Because,” (continued Vincent, answering his own 
enigma) — “because, beyond you there is no passing!” 
The Frenchman (one of that race who always forgive 
any thing for a bon mot ) smiled, bowed, and drew himself 
aside. Vincent steered by, and joining me, hiccuped out, 
“Fortiaque adversis opponite pectora rebus.” 

Meanwhile I had looked round the room for the objects 


188 


PELHAM; OR, 


of my pursuit : to my great surprise I could not perceive 
them ; they may be in the other room, thought I, and to 
ihe other room I went ; the supper was laid out, and an 
old bonne was quietly helping herself to some sweetmeat. 
All other human beings (if, indeed, an old woman can be 
called a human being !) were, however, invisible, and I 
remained perfectly bewildered as to the non-appearance 
of Warburton and his companion. I entered the gaming 
room once more — I looked round in every corner — I 
examined every face — but in vain ; and with a feeling 
of disappointment very disproportioned to my loss, I took 
Vincent’s arm, and we withdrew. 

The next morning I spent with Madame d’Anville. A 
Frenchwoman easily consoles herself for the loss of a lover 

— she converts him into a friend, and thinks herself (no* 
is she much deceived) benefited by the exchange. We 
talked of our grief in maxims, and bade each other adieu 
in antitheses. Ah ! it is a pleasant thing to drink with 
Alcidonis (in Marmontel’s Tale) of the rose-colored phial 

— to sport with the fancy, not to brood over the passion 
of youth. There is a time when the heart, from very 
tenderness, runs over, and (so much do our virtues as well 
as vices flow from our passions) there is, perhaps, rather 
hope than anxiety for the future in that excess. Then, if 
Pleasure errs, it errs through heedlessness, not design ; 
and Love, wandering over flowers, “ proffers honey, but 
bears not a sting.” Ah ! happy time ! in the lines of one 
who can so well translate feeling into words — 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


189 


“Fate lias not darkened thee — Hope has not mads 
The blossoms expand it but opens to fade; 

Nothing is known of those wearing fears 

Which will shadow the light of our after years.” \ 

The Improvisatrict. 

Pardon this digression — not much, it must be confessed 
in my ordinary strain — but let me, dear reader, very 
seriously advise thee not to judge of me yet. When thou 
hast got to the end of my book, if thou dost condemn it 
or its hero — why “ I will let thee alone ” (as honest 
Dogberry advises) “ till thou art sober ; and, if thou make 
me not, then, the better answer, thou art not the man I 
took thee for.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

It must be confessed, that flattery comes mightily easy to one’s 
mouth in the presence of royalty. — Letters of Stephen Montague. 

’Tis he. — How came he thence — what doth he here ? — Lara. 

I had received for that evening (my last at Paris) an 

invitation from the Duehesse de B . I knew that the 

party was to be small, and that very few besides the royal 
family would compose it. I had owed the honor of this 

invitation to my intimacy with the s, the great 

friends of the duehesse, and I promised myself some plea- 
sure in the engagement 

There were but eight or nine persons present when I 
entered the royal chamber. The most distinguished of 
these I recognized immediately as the . He came 


i 90 PELHAM; OR, 

forward with much grace as I approached, and expressed 
his pleasure at seeing me. 

“You were presented, I think, about a month ago,” 

added the , with a smile of singular fascination ; “ I 

remember it well.” 

I bowed low to this compliment. 

Do you propose staying long at Paris?” continued 
jie . 

“ I protracted,” I replied, “ my departure solely for 
the honor this evening affords me. In so doing, please 

your , I have followed the wise maxim ol keeping 

the greatest pleasure to the last.” 

The royal chevalier bowed to my answer with a smile 
still sweeter than before, and began a conversation with 
me which lasted for several minutes. I was much struck 

with the ’s air and bearing. They possess great 

dignity, without any affectation of its assumption. He 
speaks peculiarly good English, and the compliment of 
addressing me in that language was therefore as judicious 
as delicate. His observations owed little to his rank ; 
they would have struck you as appropriate, and the air 
which accompanied them pleased you as graceful, even in 
a simple individual. Judge, then, if they charmed me in 

the . The upper part of his countenance is prominent 

and handsome, and his eyes have much softness of expres- 
sion His figure is slight and particularly well knit; 
perhaps he is altogether more adapted to strike in private 
than with public effect. Upon the whole, he is one of 
those very few persons of great rank whom you would 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 191 


have had pride in knowing as an equal, and have pleasure 
in acknowledging as a superior.* * 

As the paused, and turned with great courtesy to 

the Due de , I bowed my way to the Duchesse de 

B . That personage, whose liveliness and piquancy 

of manner always make one wish for one’s own sake that 
ner rank was less exalted, was speaking with great volu- 
bility to a tall, stupid-looking man, one of the ministers, 
and smiled most graciously upon me as I drew near. She 
spoke to me of our national amusements. “ You are not,” 
said she, “so fond of dancing as we are.” 

“ We have not the same exalted example to be at once 
our motive and our model,” said I, in allusion to the 
Duchesse’s well-known attachment to that accomplishment. 

The Duchesse d’A came up as I said this, and the 

conversation flowed on evenly enough till the ’s whist 

party was formed. His partner was Madame de la R , 

the heroine of La Vendee. She was a tall and very stout 
woman, singularly lively and entertaining, and appeared 
to possess both the moral and the physical energy to ac- 
complish feats still more noble than those she performed. 

I soon saw that it would not do for me to stay very 
long. I had already made a favorable impression, and, 

- . t 

* The sketch of these unfortunate members of an exiled and 
illustrious family may not be the less interesting from the reverses 
which, since the first publication of this work, placed the Orleans 
family on the Bourbon throne. As for the erring Charles X., he 
was, neither a great monarch nor a wise man, but he was, in air, 
grace, and manner, the most thorough-bred gentleman I ever met 
— 7/. P 


192 


PELHAM; OR, 


in such cases, it is my constant rule immediately to retire 
Stay, if it be whole hours, until you have pleased, but 
leave the moment after your success. A great genius 
should not linger too long either in the salon or the world. 
He must quit each with eclat. In obedience to this rule, 
I no sooner found that my court had been effectually made 
than I rose to withdraw. 

“You will return soon to Paris, ” said the Duchesse de 

B~— . 

“ I cannot resist it,” I replied. “ Mon corps reviendra 
pour chercher mon cceur” 

“We shall not forget you,” said the Duchesse. 

4 

“Your Royal Highness has now given me my only 
inducement not to return,” I answered, as I bowed out of 
the room. 

It was much too early to go home ; at that time I was 
too young and restless to sleep till long after midnight ; 
and while I was deliberating in what manner to pass the 
hours, I suddenly recollected the hotel in the Rue St. 
Honore, to which Yincent and I had paid so unceremonious 
a visit the night before. Impressed with the hope that I 
might be more successful in meeting Warburton than I 
had then been, I ordered the coachman to drive to the 
abode of the old Marquis . 

The salon was as crowded as usual. I lost a few 
Napoleons at ecarte, in order to pay my entree , and then 
commenced a desultory flirtation with one of the fair de- 
coys. In this occupation my eye and my mind frequently 
wandered. I could not divest myself of the hope of once 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 193 

more seeing Warburton before my departure from Paris, 
and every reflection which confirmed my* suspicions of his 
identity redoubled my interest in his connection with Tyr- 
rell and the vulgar debauche of the Rue St. Dominique 
I was making some languid reply to my Cynthia of the 
minute, when my ear was suddenly greeted by an English 
voice. I looked round, and saw Thornton in close con- 
versation with a man whose back was turned to me, but 
whom I rightly conjectured to be Tyrrell. 

“Oh ! he’ll be here soon,” said the former, “and we’ll 
bleed him regularly to-night. It is very singular that you 
who play so much better should not have floored him 
yesterday evening.” 

Tyrrell replied in a tone so low as to be inaudible, and 
a minute afterwards the door opened, and Warburton 
entered. He came up instantly to Thornton and his com- 
panion ; and after a few words of ordinary salutation, 
Warburton said, in one of those modulated but artificial 
tones so peculiar to himself, “ I am sure, Tyrrell, that you 
must be eager for your revenge. To lose to such a mere 
tyro as myself, is quite enough to double the pain of de- 
feat, and the desire of retaliation.” 

I did not hear Tyrrell’s reply, but the trio presently 
moved towards the door, which till then I had not noticed, 
and which was probably the entrance to our hostess’s 
boudoir. The soi-disante marquise opened it herself, for 
which kind office Thornton gave her a leer and a wink, 
characteristic of his claims to gallantry. When the door 
was again closed upon them, I went up to the marquise, 
I. — IT n 


194 


PELHAM; OR, 


and after a few compliments, asked whether the room 
Messieurs les Anglais had entered was equally open to 
all guests ? 

“ Why,” said she, with a slight hesitation, “ those 
gentlemen play for higher stakes than we usually do here, 
and one of them is apt to get irritated by the advice and 
expostulations of the lookers-on ; and so after they had 
played a short time in the salon last night, Monsieur 
Thornton, a very old friend of mine, (here the lady looked 
down,) asked me permission to occupy the inner room ; 
and as I knew him so well, I could have no scruple in 
obliging him.” 

“ Then, I suppose,” said I, ‘‘that as a stranger, I have 
not permission to intrude upon them?” 

“Shall I inquire ?” answered the marquise. 

“No ! ” said I, “ it is not worth while ; ” and accord- 
ingly I re-seated myself, and appeared once more occupied 
in saying des belles choses to my kind-hearted neighbor. 
I could not, however, with all my dissimulation, sustain a 
conversation from which my present feelings were so 
estranged, for more than a few minutes ; and I was never 
more glad than when my companion, displeased with my 
inattention, rose, and left me to my own reflections. 

What could Warburton (if he were the person I sus 
pected) gain by the disguise he had assumed ? He was 
too rich to profit by any sums he could win from Tyrrell, 
and too much removed from Thornton’s station in life, to 
derive any pleasure or benefit from his acquaintance with 
that person. His dark threats of vengeance in the Jardin 


adventures op a gentleman. 195 

des plantes, and his reference to the two hundred pounds 
Tyrrell possessed, gave me, indeed, some clue as to his 
real object ; but then — why this disguise ! Had he known 
Tyrrell before, in his proper semblance, and had anything 
passed between them, which rendered this concealment 
now expedient ? — this, indeed, seemed probable enough ; 
tut, was Thornton entrusted with the secret ? — and, if 
revenge was the object, was that low man a partaker in 
its execution ? — or was he not, more probably, playing 
the traitor to both ? As for Tyrrell himself, his own 
designs upon Warburton were sufficient to prevent pity 
for any fall into the pit he had digged for others. 

Meanwhile, time passed on, the hour grew late, and 
the greater part of the guests were gone ; still I could 
not tear myself away ; I looked from time to time at the 
door, with an indescribable feeling of anxiety. I longed, 
yet dreaded, for it to open ; I felt as if my own fate were 
in some degree implicated in what was then agitating 
within, and I could not resolve to depart, until I had 
formed some conclusions on the result. 

At length the door opened ; Tyrrell came forth — his 
countenance was perfectly hueless, his cheek was sunk and 
hollow, the excitement of two hours had been sufficient to 
render it so. I observed that his teeth were set, and his 
hand clenched, as they are when we idly seek, by the 
strained and extreme tension of the nerves, to sustain the 
fever and the agony of the mind. Warburton and Thorn- 
ton followed him ; the latter with his usual air of reckless 
indifference — his quick rolling eye glanced from the mar- 


196 


PELHAM; OR, 


quise to myself, and though his color changed slightly, his 
nod of recognition was made with its wonted impudence 
and ease ; but Warburton passed on, like Tyrrell, without 
noticing or heeding anything around. He fixed his large 
bright eye upon the figure which preceded him, without 
once altering its direction, and the extreme beauty of his 
features, which, not all the dishevelled length of his hair 
and whiskers could disguise, was lighted up with a joyous 
but savage expression, which made me turn away, almost 
with a sensation of fear. 

Just as Tyrrell was leaving the room, Warburton put 
his hand upon his shoulder — “Stay,” said he, “I am 
going your way, and will accompany you.” He turned 
round to Thornton (who was already talking with the 
marquise) as he said this, and waved his hand, as if to 
prevent his following ; the next moment, Tyrrell and him- 
self had left the room. 

I could not now remain longer. I felt a feverish rest- 
lessness, which impelled me onwards. I quitted the salon , 
and was on the staircase before the gamesters had de- 
scended. Warburton was, indeed, but a few steps before 
me ; the stairs were but very dimly lighted by one expiring 
lamp ; he did not turn round to see me, and was probably 
too much engrossed to hear me. 

“You may yet have a favorable reverse,” said he to 
Tyrrell. 

“ Impossible ! ” replied the latter, in a tone of such deep 
anguish, that it thrilled me to the very heart, “ I am an 


* 

ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 191 

utter beggar — I have nothing in the world — I have no 
expectation but to starve 1 ” 

While he was saying this, I perceived by the faint and 
uncertain light, that Warburton’s hand was raised to his 
own countenance. 

11 Have you no hope — no spot wherein to look for com- 
fort — is beggary your absolute and only possible resource 
from famine ? ” he replied, in a low and suppressed tone. 

At that moment we were just descending into the court- 
yard. Warburton was but one step behind Tyrrell : the 
latter made no answer; but as he passed from the dark 
staircase into’ the clear moonlight of the court, I caught 
a glimpse of the big tears which rolled heavily and silently 
down his cheeks. Warburton laid his hand upon him. 

“ Turn,” he cried, suddenly, “your cup is not yet full 
— look upon me — and remember!” 

I pressed forward — the light shone full upon the coun- 
tenance of the speaker — the dark hair was gone — my 
suspicions were true — I discovered at one glance the 
bright locks and lofty brow of Reginald Glanville. Slowly 
Tyrrell gazed, as if he were endeavoring to repel some 
terrible remembrance, which gathered, with every instant, 
more fearfully upon him ; until, as the stern countenance 
of Glanville grew darker and darker in its mingled scorn 
and defiance, he uttered one low cry, and sank senseless 
upon the earth. 


17 * 


198 


* 

PELHAM) OR, 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Well, he is gone, and with him go these thoughts. — 

Shakspeare. 

What ho! for England! — Ibid. 

I have always had an insuperable horror of being placed 
Cn what the vulgar call a predicament. In a predicament 
I was most certainly placed at the present moment. A 
man at my feet in a fit — the cause of it having very wisely 
disappeared, devolving upon me the charge of watching 
recovering, and conducting home the afflicted person — 
made a concatenation of disagreeable circumstances, as 
much unsuited to the temper of Henry Pelham, as his evil 
fortune could possibly have contrived. 

After a short pause of deliberation, I knocked up the 
porter, procured some cold water, and bathed Tyrrell’s 
temples for several moments before he recovered. He 
opened his eyes slowly, and looked carefully round with a 
fearful and suspicious glance : “ Gone — gone — (he mut- 
tered) — ay — what did he here at such a moment? — 
vengeance — for what? /could not tell it would have 
killed her — let him thank his own folly. I do not fear ; 
I defy his malice.” And with these words Tyrrell sprung 
to his feet. 

“ Can I assist you to your home ?” said I ; “you are 
still unwell — pray suffer me to have that pleasure.” 

I spoke with some degree of warmth and sincerity ; the 


* 


ADVENTURES OF A GEN. TELMAN. 


199 


unfortunate man stared wildly at me for a moment, before 
he replied. “ Who,” said he, at last, “ who speaks to me 
— the lost — the guilty — the ruined, in the accents of 
interest and kindness ? ” 

I placed his arm in mine, and drew him out of the yard 
into the open street. He looked at me with an eager and 
wistful survey, and then, by degrees, appearing to recover 
his full consciousness of the present, and recollection of 
the past, he pressed my hand warmly, and after a short 
silence, during which we moved on slowly towards the 
Tuileries, he said, — “ Pardon me, sir, if I have not suf- 
ficiently thanked you for your kindness and attention. I 
am now quite restored ; the close room in which I have 
been sitting for so many hours, and the feverish excitement 
of play, acting upon a frame much debilitated by ill health, 
occasioned my momentary indisposition. I am now, I 
repeat, quite recovered, and will no longer trespass upon 
your good-nature.” 

“ Really,” said I, “ you had better not discard my services 
yet. I)o suffer me to accompany you home ? ” 

“ Home ! ” muttered Tyrrell, with a deep sigh ; “ no — 
no ! ” and then, as if recollecting himself, he said, “ I thank 
you, sir, but — but — ” 

I saw his embarrassment, and interrupted him. 

“Well, if I cannot assist you any further, I will take 
your dismissal. I trust we shall meet again under auspices 
better calculated for improving acquaintance.” 

Tyrrell bowed, once more pressed my hand, and we 
parted. I hurried on up the long street towards my hotel. 


When I had got several paces beyond Tyrrell, 1 turned 
back to look at him. He was standing in the same place 
n which I had left him. I saw by the moonlight that his 
face and hands were raised towards Heaven. It was but 
for a moment : his attitude changed while I was yet looking 

» 

and he slowly and calmly continued his way in the same 
direction as myself. When I reached my chambers, I 
hastened immediately to bed, but not to sleep : the extra- 
ordinary scene I had witnessed; the dark and ferocious 
expression of Glanville’s countenance, so strongly impressed 
with every withering and deadly passion ; the fearful and 
unaccountable remembrance that had seemed to gather 
over the livid and varying face of the gamester ; the mys- 
tery of Glanville’s disguise ; the intensity of a revenge so 
terribly expressed, together with the restless and burning 
anxiety I felt — not from idle curiosity, but, from my early 
and intimate friendship for Glanville, to fathom its cause 
— all crowded upon my mind with a feverish confusion, 
that effectually banished repose. 

It was with that singular sensation of pleasure which 
none but those who have passed frequent nights in restless 
and painful agitation, can recognize, that I saw the bright 
sun penetrate through my shutters, and heard Bedos move 
across my room. 

“ What hour will Monsieur have the post-horses ? ” said 
that praiseworthy valet. 

“At eleven,” answered I, springing out of bed with joy 
at the change of scene which the very mention of my 
journey brought before my mind. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 201 

I was turning listlessly, as I sate at breakfast, over the 
pages of Galignani’s Messenger, when the following para- 
graph caught my attention: — 

It is rumored among the circles of the Faubourg, that 

a duel was fought on , between a young Englishman 

and Monsieur D ; the cause of it is said to be tho 

pretensions of both to the beautiful Duchesse de P , 

who, if report be true, cares for neither of the gallants, 
but lavishes her favors upon a certain attache to the 
English embassy.” 

“ Such,” thought I, “ are the materials for all human 
histories. Every one who reads, will eagerly swallow this 
account as true : if an author were writing the memoirs of 
the court, he would compile his facts and scandal from this 
very collection of records ; and yet, though so near the 
truth, how totally false it is ! Thank Heaven, however, 
that, at least, I am not suspected of the degradation of 
the duchess’s love : — to fight for her may make me seem 
a fool — to be loved by her would constitute me a villain.” 

“ The horses, sir 1 ” said Bedos ; and “ The bill, sir ? ” 
said the gargon. Alas ! that those and that should be so 
coupled together ; and that we can never take our depar- 
ture without such awful witnesses of our sojourn. Well 

— to be brief — the bill for once was discharged — the 
horses snorted — the carriage-door was opened — I entered 

— Bedos mounted behind — crack went the whips — off 
went the steeds, and so terminated my adventures at dear 
Paris. 


202 


PELHAM*, OR, 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

O, cousin, you know him — the fine gentleman they talk of so 
much in town. — Wycherly’s Dancing Master. 

By the bright days of my youth, there is something 
truly delightful in the quick motion of four, ay, or even 
two post-horses ! In France, where one’s steeds are none 
of the swiftest, the pleasures of travelling are not quite so 
great as in England ; still, however, to a man who is tired 
of one scene — panting for another — in love with excite- 
ment, and yet not wearied of its pursuit — the turnpike- 
road is more grateful than the easiest chair ever invented, 
and the little prison we entitle a carriage, more cheerful 
than the state rooms of Devonshire House. 

We reached Calais in safety, and in good time, the next 
day. 

“ Will Monsieur dine in his rooms, or at the table 
dhole ?” 

“ In his rooms, of course,” said Bedos, indignantly deci- 
ding the question. A French valet’s dignity is always 
involved in his master’s. 

“You are too good, Bedos,” said I, “I shall dine at 
the table d’hote — whom have you there in general ?” 

“ Really,” said the gargon, “ we have such a swift suc- 
cession of guests, that we seldom see the same faces two 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 203 

days running. We have as many cnanges as an English 
administration.” 

“You are facetious,” said I 

“No,” returned the gargon, who was a philosopher as 
well as a wit ; “ no, my digestive organs are very weak, 
and par consequence, I am naturally melancholy — Ah, 
mafoi, ires triste / ” and with these words the sentimental 
plate-changer placed his hand — I can scarcely say, whether 
on his heart, or his stomach, and sighed bitterly I 

“How long,” said I, “does it want to dinner?” My 
question restored the gar<jon to himself. 

“Two hours, Monsieur, two hours,” and twirling his 
serviette with an air of exceeding importance, off went my 
melancholy acquaintance to compliment new customers, 
and complain of his digestion. 

After I had arranged my toilette — yawned three times, 
and drunk two bottles of soda-water, I strolled into the 
town. As I was sauntering along leisurely enough, I heard 
my name pronounced behind me. I turned, and saw Sir 
Willoughby Townshend, an old baronet of an antediluvian 
age — a fossil witness of the wonders of England, before 
the deluge of French manners swept away ancient customs, 
and created, out of the wrecks of what had been, a new 
order of things, and a new race of mankind. 

“Ah I my dear Mr. Pelham, how are you? and the 
worthy Lady Frances, your mother, and your excellent 
father, all well ? — I’m delighted to hear it. Russelton,” 
continued Sir Willoughby, turning to a middle-aged man, 
whose arm he held, “you remember Pelham — true Whig 


204 


PELHAM; OR, 


— great friend of Sheridan’s ? — let me introduce his son 
to you. Mr. Russelton, Mr. Pelham ; Mr. Pelham, Mr. 
Russelton.” 

At the name of the person thus introduced to me, a 
thousand recollections crowded upon my mind ; the con- 
temporary and rival of Napoleon — the autocrat of the 
great world of fashion and cravats — the mighty genius 
before whom aristocracy hath been humbled and ton 
abashed — at whose nod the haughtiest noblesse of Europe 
had quailed — who had introduced, by a single example, 
starch into neckcloths, and had fed the pampered appetite 
of his boot-tops on champagne — whose coat and whose 
friend were cut with an equal grace — and whose name 
was connected with every triumph that the world’s great 
virtue of audacity could achieve — the illustrious, the im- 
mortal Russelton, stood before me ! I recognized in him 
a congenial, though a superior spirit, and I bowed with a 
profundity of veneration, with which no other human being 
has ever inspired me. 

Mr. Russelton seemed pleased with my evident respect, 
and returned my salutation with a mock dignity which 
enchanted me. He offered me his disengaged arm ; I took 
it with transport, and we all three proceeded up the street. 

“So,” said Sir Willoughby — “so, Russelton, you like 
your quarters here ; plenty of sport among the English, I 
should think : you have not forgot the art of quizzing ; eh, 
old fellow ?” 

“Even if I had,” said Mr. Russelton, speaking very 
slowly, “the sight of Sir Willoughby Townshend would 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 205 

be quite sufficient to refresh my memory. Yes,” continued 
the venerable wreck, after a short pause — “ yes, I like my 
residence pretty well; I enjoy a calm conscience, and a 
clean shirt : what more can man desire ? I have made 
acquaintance with a tame parrot, and I have taught it to 
say, whenever an English fool with a stiff neck and a loose 
swagger passes him — ‘True Briton — true Briton . * I 
take care of my health, and reflect upon old age. I have 
read Gil Bias, and the Whole Duty of Man ; and, in short, 
what with instructing my parrot, and improving myself, I 
think I pass my time as creditably and decorously as the 

Bishop of Winchester, or my Lord of A himself. So 

you have just come from Paris, I presume, Mr. Pelham ? ” 

“I left it yesterday ! ” 

“ Full of those horrid English, I suppose ; thrusting 
their broad hats and narrow minds into every shop in the 
Palais Royal — winking their dull eyes at the damsels of 
the counter, and manufacturing their notions of French 
into a higgle for sous. Oh ! the monsters ! — they bring 
on a bilious attack whenever I think of them : the other 
day one of them accosted me, and talked me into a nervous 
fever about patriotism and roast pigs : luckily I was near 
my own house, and reached it before the thing became 
fatal ; but only think, had I wandered too far when he met 
me ! at my time of life, the shock would have been too 
great ; I should certainly have perished in a fit. I hope at 
least, they would have put the cause of my death in my 
epitaph — ‘ Died, of an Englishman, John Russelton, Esq., 
I. — 18 


206 


PELHAM; OR, 


aged/ &c. Pah ! You are not engaged, Mr. Pelham ; dine 
with me to-day ; Willoughby and his umbrella are coming, ’» 

“ Volontiers” said I, “ though I was going to make 
. observations on men and manners at the table d ’ hole of 
my hotel.” 

“I am most truly grieved,” replied Mr. Russelton, “at 
depriving you of so much amusement. With me you will 
only find some tolerable Lafitte, and an anomalous dish 
my cuisiniere calls a mutton chop. It will be curious to 
see what variation in the monotony of mutton she will 
adopt to-day. The first time I ordered ‘ a chop,’ I thought 
I had amply explained every necessary particular ; a certain 
portion of flesh, and a gridiron : at seven o’clock up came 
a cotelette panee ! Faute de mieux, I swallowed the com- 
position, drowned as it was in a most pernicious sauce. 
I had one hour’s sleep, and the nightmare, in consequence. 
The next day, I imagined no mistake could be made : sauce 
was strictly prohibited ; all extra ingredients laid under a 
most special veto, and a natural gravy gently recommend- 
ed : the cover was removed, and lo ! a breast of mutton, 
all bone and gristle, like the dying gladiator ! This time 
my heart was too full for wrath ; I sat down and wept 1 
To-day will be the third time I shall make the experiment, 
if French cooks will consent to let one starve upon nature. 
For my part, I have no stomach left now for art : I wore 
out my digestion in youth, swallowing Jack St. Leger’s 
suppers, and Sheridan’s promises to pay. Pray, Mr. Pel 
ham, did you try Staub when you were at Paris V 

“ Yes : and thought him one degree better than Stult7, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 207 

whom, indeed, I have long condemned, as fit only for minora 
at Oxford, and majors in the infantry. ” 

“ True,” said Russelton, with a very faint smile at a pun, 
somewhat in his own way, and levelled at a tradesman, of 
whom he was, perhaps, a little jealous — “True ; Stultz 
aims at making gentlemen , not coats ; there is a degree of 
aristocratic pretension in his stitches, which is vulgar to 
an appalling degree. You can tell a Stultz coat any where, 
which is quite enough to damn it ; the moment a man’s 
known by an iuvariable cut, and that not orginal, it ought 
to be all over with him. Give me the man who makes the 
tailor, not the tailor who makes the man.” 

“ Right, by Jove ! ” cried Sir Willoughby, who was as 

badly dressed as one of Sir E ’s dinners. “ Right ; 

just my opinion. I have always told my Schneiders to make 
my clothes neither in the fashion nor out of it ; to copy no 
other man’s coat, and to cut their cloth according to my 
natural body, not according to an isosceles triangle. Look 
at this coat, for instance,” and Sir Willoughby Townshend 
made a dead halt, that we might admire his garment the 
more accurately. 

“ Coat ! ” said Russelton, with an appearance of the 
most naive surprise, and taking hold of the collar, suspi- 
ciously, by the finger and thumb ; “coat, Sir Willoughby 1 
do you call this thing a coat ? ” 


0 


208 


PELHAM; OR, 


/ 


CHAPTER XXXIII- 

J’ai toujours cru que le bon n’4toit que le beau mis en action. — - 
Rousseau. 

Shortly after Russelton’s answer to Sir Willoughby’s 
eulogistic observations on his own attire, I left those two 
worthies till I was to join them at dinner : it wanted three 
hours yet to that time, and I repaired to my quarters to 
bathe and write letters. I scribbled one to Madame D’An- 
ville, full of antitheses and maxims, sure to charm her ; 
another to my mother, to prepare her for my arrival; and 
a third to Lord Yincent, giving him certain commissions 
at Paris, which I had forgotten personally to execute. 

My pen is not that of a ready writer; and what with 
yawning, stretching, and putting pen to paper, it was time 
to bathe and dress before my letters were completed. I 
set off to Russelton’s abode in high spirits, and fully re- 
solved to make the most of a character so original. 

It was a very small room in which I found him ; he was 
stretched in an easy chair before the fire-place, gazing 
complacently at his feet, and apparently occupied in any- 
thing but listening to Sir Willoughby Townshend, who 
w r as talking with great vehemence about politics and the 
corn-laws. Notwithstanding the heat of the weather, there 
was a small fire on the hearth, which aided by the earnest- 
ness of his efforts to convince his host, put poor Sir Wil- 


v 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


20S> 


.oughby into a most intense perspiration. Russelton, 
however, seemed enviably cool, and hung over the burning 
wood like a cucumber on a hotbed. Sir Willoughby came 
to a full stop by the window, and (gasping for breath) 
attempted to throw it open. 

“ What are you doing ? for Heaven’s sake, what are you 
doing?” cried Russelton, starting up; “do you mean to 
kill me ? ” 

“ Kill you ! ” said Sir Willoughby, quite aghast. 

“ Yes ; kill me ! is it not quite cold enough already in 
this d — d seafaring place, without making my only retreat, 
humble as it is, a theatre for thorough draughts ? Have 
I not had the rheumatism in my left shoulder, and the 
ague in my little finger, these last six months ? and must 
you now terminate my miserable existence at one blow, by 
opening that abominable lattice ? Do you think, because 
your great frame, fresh from the Yorkshire wolds, and 
compacted of such materials, that one would think, in 
eating your beeves, you had digested their hide into skin 
— do you think, because your limbs might be cut up into 
planks for a seventy-eight, and warranted waterproof 
without pitch, because of the density of their pores — do 
you think, because you are as impervious as an araphoros* 
tic shoe, that I, John Russelton, am equally impenetrable, 
and that you are to let easterly winds play about my room 
like children, begetting rheums and asthmas and all manner 
of catarrhs ? I do beg, Sir Willoughby Townshend, that 
you will suffer me to die a more natural and civilised 
18* o 


21C 


PELHAM*, OR, 


death ; ” and so saying, Russelton sank down into his 
chair, apparently in the last stage, of exhaustion. 

Sir Willoughby, who remembered the humorist in ail 
his departed glory, and still venerated him as a temple 
where the deity yet breathed, though the altar was over- 
thrown, made to this extraordinary remonstrance no other 
reply than a long whiff ’ and a “Well, Russelton, damme 
but you’re a queer fellow.” 

Russelton now turned to me, and invited me, with a 
tone of the most lady-like languor, to sit down near the 
fire. As I am naturally of a chilly disposition, and fond, 
too, of beating people in their own line, I drew a chair 
close to the hearth, declared the weather was very cold, 
and requested permission to ring the bell for some more 
wood. Russelton stared for a moment, and then, with a 
politeness he had not deigned to exert before, approached 
his chair to mine, and began a conversation, which, in spite 
of his bad witticisms, and peculiarity of manner, I found 
singularly entertaining. 

Dinner was announced, and we adjourned to another 
room : — poor Sir Willoughby, with his waistcoat unbut- 
toned, and breathing like a pug in a phthisis — groaned 
bitterly, when he discovered that this apartment was 
smaller and hotter than the one before. Russelton imme- 
diately helped him to some scalding soup — and said, as 
he told the servant to hand Sir Willoughby the cayenne, 
“ you will find this, my dear Townshend, a very sensible 
potage for this severe season.” 

Dinner went off tamely enough, with the exception of 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 211 

11 our fat friend’s ” agony, which Russelton enjoyed most 
luxuriously. The threatened mutton-chops did not make 
their appearance, and the dinner, though rather too small, ^ 
was excellently cooked, and better arranged. With the - 
dessert, the poor baronet rose, and pleading sudden indis- ~ 
position, tottered out of the door. 

When he was gone, Russelton threw himself back in his 
chair, and laughed for several minutes with a low chuckling 
sound, till the tears ran down his cheek. 

After a few jests at Sir Willoughby, our conversation 
turned upon other individuals. I soon saw that Russelton 
was a soured and disappointed man : his remarks on people 
were all sarcasms — his mind was overflowed with a suf- 
fusion of ill-nature — he bit as well as growled: No man of 
the world ever, I am convinced, becomes a real philosopher 
in retirement. People who have been employed for years 
upon trifles have not the greatness of mind which could 
alone make them indifferent to what they have coveted 
all their lives, as most enviable and important. 

“ Have you read ’s memoirs ? ” said Mr. Russelton. 

“ No ! Well, I imagined every one had at least dipped 
into them. I have often had serious thoughts of dignifying 
my own retirement, by the literary employment of detailing 
ray adventures in the world. I think I could throw a new 
light upon things and persons, which my contemporaries 
will shrink back like owls at perceiving.” 

“Your life,” said I, “must indeed furnish matter of 
equal instruction and amusement.” 

“ A y>” answered Russelton : “ amusement to the fools. 


912 PELHAM; OR, 

but instruction to the knaves. I am, indeed, a lamentable 
Example to the fall of ambition. I brought starch into all 
the neckcloths in England, and I end by tying my own 
at a three-inch looking-glass at Calais. You are a young 
man, Mr. Pelham, about to commence life, probably with 
the same views as (though greater advantages than) my- 
self ; perhaps, in indulging my egotism, I shall not weary 
without recompensing you. 

“ I came into the world with an inordinate love of glory, 
and a great admiration of the original ; these propensities 
might have made me a Shakspeare — they did more, they 
made me a Russelton ! When I was six years old, I cut 
my jacket into a coat, and turned my aunt’s best petticoat 
into a waistcoat. I disdained at eight the language of the 
vulgar, and when my father asked me to fetch his slippers, 
I replied, that ray soul swelled beyond the limits of a lack- 
ey’s. At nine, I was self-inoculated with propriety of ideas. 
I rejected malt with the air of His Majesty, and formed a 
violent affection for maraschino ; though starving at school, 
I never took twice of pudding, and paid sixpence a week 
out of my shilling to have my shoes blacked. As I grew 
up, my notions expanded. I gave myself, without restraint, 
to the ambition that burnt within me — I cut my old friends, 
who were rather envious than emulous of my genius, and 
I employed three tradesmen to make my gloves — one for 
the hand, a second for the fingers, and a third for the 
thumb ! These two qualities made me courted and admired 
by a new race — for the great secrets of being courted are 
to shun others, and seem delighted with yourself. The 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 213 

latter is obvious enough ; who the deuce should be pleased 
with you, if you are not pleased with yourself? 

“ Before I left college I fell in love. Other fellows, ai 
my age, in such a predicament, would have whined — 
shaved only twice a week, and written verses. I did none 
of the three — the last indeed I tried, but, to my infinite 
surprise, I found my genius was not universal. I began 
with 

‘ Sweet nymph, for whom I wake my muse.’ 

“ For this, after considerable hammering, I could only 
think of the rhyme ‘ shoes 1 — so I began again, — 

‘Thy praise demands much softer lutes.’ 

And the fellow of this verse terminated like myself in 
1 boots . 1 — Other efforts were equally successful — * bloom ’ 
suggested to my imagination no rhyme but ‘perfume ! ’ — 
‘ despair ’ only reminded me of my ‘hair,’ — and ‘hope’ 
was met, at the end of the second verse, by the inharmonious 
antithesis of ‘ soap.- Finding, therefore, that my forte 
was not in the Pierian line, I redoubled my attention to 
my dress ; I coated and cravatted with all the attention 
the very inspiration of my rhymes seemed to advise ; — in 
6hort, I thought the best pledge I could gife my Dulcinea 
of my passion for her person, would be to show her what 
affectionate veneration I could pay to my own. 

“ My mistress could not withhold from me her admira- 
tion, but she denied me her love. She confessed Mr. 
Russelton was the bestrdressed man at the University, and 
had the whitest hands ; and two days after this avowal, 


2H PELHAM; OR, 

she ran away with a great rosy-cheeked extract from 
Leicestershire. 

“I did not blame her : I pitied her too much — but I 
made a vow never to be in love again. In spite of all 
advantages I kept my oath, and avenged myself on the 
species for the insult of the individual. 

“Before I commenced a part which was to continue 
through life, I considered deeply on the humors of the 
spectators. I saw that the character of the more fashion- 
able of the English was servile to rank, and yielding to 
pretension — they admire you for your acquaintance, and 
cringe to you for your conceit. The first thing, therefore, 
was to know great people — the second to control them. 
I dressed well, and had good horses — that was sufficient 
to make me sought by the young of my own sex. I talked 
scandal, and was never abashed — that was more than 
enough to make me admired among the matrons of the 
other. It is single men, and married women, to whom 
are given the St. Peter’s keys of Society. I was soon 
admitted into its heaven — I was more — I was one of its 
saints. I became imitated as well as initiated. I was the 
rage — the lion. Why ? — was I better — was I richer 

— was I handsomer — was I cleverer, than my kind ? No, 
no ; — (and here Russelton ground his teeth with a strong 
and wrathful expression of scorn) ; — and had I been all 

— had Ijbqen a very concentration and monopoly of all 
human perfections, they would not have valued me at half 
the price they did set on me. It was — I will tell you the 
simple secret, Mr. Pelham — it was because I trampled on 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 215 

them , that, like crushed herbs, they sent up a grateful 
incense in return. 

“ Oh 1 it was balm to my bitter and loathing temper, to 
see those who would have spurned me from them, if the) 
dared, writhe beneath my lash, as I withheld or inflicted 
it at will. I was the magician who held the great spirits 
that longed to tear me to pieces, by one simple spell which 
a superior hardihood had won me — and, by Heaven, I 
did not spare to exert it. 

“Well, well, this is but an idle recollection now; all 
human power, says the proverb of every language, is but 
of short duration. Alexander did not conquer kingdoms 
for ever ; and Russelton’s good fortune deserted him at 
last. Napoleon died in exile, and so shall I ; but we have 
both had our day, and mine was the brightest of the two, 
for it had no change till the evening. I am more happy 
than people would think for — Je ne suis pas souvent oil 
mon corps est — I live in a world of recollections, I trample 
again upon coronets and ermine, the glories of the small 
great ! I give once more laws which no libertine is so 
hardy as not to feel exalted in adopting ; I hold my court 
and issue my fiats ; I am like the madman, and out of the 
very straws of my cell, I make my subjects and my realm ; 
and when I wake from these bright visions, and see myself 
an old, deserted man, forgotten, and decaying inch by inch 
in a foreign village, I can at least summon sufficient of 
my ancient regality of spirit not to sink beneath thCT?effrse. 
If I am inclined to be melancholy, why, I extinguish my 
fire, and imagine I have demolished a duchess. I steal 


21G 


PELHAM; OR, 


up to my solitary chamber, to rehew again, in my sleep, 
the phantoms of my youth ; to carouse with princes ; to 
legislate for nobles ; and to wake in the morning (here 
Russelton’s countenance and manner suddenly changed to 
an affectation of methodistical gravity), and thank Heaven 
that I have still a coat to my stomach, as well as to my 
back, and that I am safely delivered of such villacous 
company ; ‘to forswear sack and live cleanly,’ during the 
rest of my sublunary existence.” 

After this long detail of Mr. Russelton’s, the conversation 
was but dull and broken. I could not avoid indulging a 
reverie upon what I had heard, and my host was evidently 
still revolving the recollections his narration had conjured 
up ; we sat opposite each other for several minutes, as 
abstracted and distracted as if we had been a couple two 
months married ; till at last I rose, and tendered my adieus. 
Russelton received them with his usual coldness, but more 
than his usual civility, for he followed me to the door. 

Just as they were about to shut it, he called me back. 
“Mr. Pelham,” said he, “Mr. Pelham, when you come 
back this way, do look in upon me, and — and as you will 
be going a good deal into society, just find out what people 
say of my manner of life ! ” * 


* It will be perceived by those readers who are kind or patient 
enough to reach the conclusion of this work, that Russelton is speci- 
fied as one of my few dramatis personae of which only the outline 
is taken from real life, and from a very noted personage ; all the 
rest — all, indeed, which forms and marks the character thus briefly 
delineated, is drawn solely from imagination. 




ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 21? 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

An old worshipful gentleman, that had a great estate. 

And kept a brave old house at a hospitable rate. 

Old Song. 

I think I may, without much loss to the reader, pass in 
silence over my voyage, the next day, to Dover. (Horrible 
reminiscence 1) I may aljso spare him an exact detail of 
all the inns and impositions between that sea-port and 
London ; nor will it be absolutely necessary to the plot of 
this history, to linger over every mile-stone between the 
metropolis and Glenmorris Castle, where my uncle and my 
mother were impatiently awaiting the arrival of the can- 
didate to be. 

It was a fine bright evening when my carriage entered 
the park. I had not seen the place for years ; and I felt 
my heart swell with something like family pride, as I gazed 
on the magnificent extent of hill and plain that opened 
upon me, as I passed the ancient and ivy-covered lodge. 
Large groups of trees, scattered on either side, seemed, in 
their own antiquity, the witness of that of the family which 
had given them existence. The sun set on the waters 
which lay gathered in a lake at the foot of the hill, breaking 
the waves into unnumbered sapphires, and tinging the dark 
firs that overspread the margin, with a rich and golden 
light, that put me excessively in mind of the Duke of 

livery ! 

I. — 19 


218 


PELHAM; OR, 


When I descended at the gate, the servants, who stood 
arranged in an order so long that it almost startled me, 
received me with a visible gladness and animation, which 
showed me, at one glance, the old-fashioned tastes of their 
master. Who, in these days, ever inspires his servants 
with a single sentiment of regard or interest for himself 
or his whole race ? That tribe one never, indeed, considers 
as possessing a life separate from their services to us : 
beyond that purpose of existence, we know not even if they 
exist. As Providence made the stars for the benefit of 
earth, so it made servants for the use of gentlemen ; and, 
as neither stars nor servants appear except when we want 
them, so I suppose they are in a sort of suspense from 
being , except at those important and happy moments. 

To return — for if I have any fault, it is too great a love 
for abstruse speculation and reflection — I was formally 
ushered through a great hall, hung round with huge antlers 
and rusty armor, through a lesser one, supported by large 
stone columns, and without any other adornment than the 
arms of the family ; then through an ante-room, covered 
with tapestry, representing the gallantries of King Solomon 
to the Queen of Sheba ; and lastly, into the apartment 
honored by the august presence of Lord Glenmorris. 
That personage was dividing the sofa with three spaniels 
and a setter ; he rose hastily when I was announced, and 
then checking the first impulse which hurried him, perhaps, 
into an unseemly warmth of salutation, held out his hand 
with a stately air of kindly protection, and while he pressed 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 219 

mine, surveyed me from head to foot, to see how far my 
appearance justified his condescension. 

Having, at last, satisfied himself, he proceeded to inquire 
after the state of my aDpetite. He smiled benignantly 
when I confessed that I was excessively well prepared to 
testify its capacities (the first idea of all kind-hearted, 
old-fashioned people, is to stuff you), and, silently motion- 
ing to the grey-headed servant who stood in attendance, 
till, receiving the expected sign, he withdrew, Lord Glen- 
morris informed me that dinner was over for every one 
but myself, that for me it would be prepared in an instant, 
that Mr. Toolington had expired four days since, that my 
mother was, at that moment, canvassing for me, and that 
my own electioneering qualities were to open their exhi- 
bition with the following day. 

After this communication there was a short pause, 
“ What a beautiful place this is ! ” said I, with great 
enthusiasm. Lord Glenmorris was pleased with the com- 
pliment, simple as it was. 

“Yes,” said he, “it is, and I have made it still more 
bo than you have yet been able to perceive.” 

“ You have been planting, probably, on the other side 
of the park ? ” 

“ No,” said my uncle, smiling ; “ Nature had done every 
thing for this spot when I came to it, but one ; and the 
addition of that one ornament is the only real triumph 
which art ever can achieve.” 

“What is it ? ” asked I ; “oh, I know — water.” 

“You are mistaken,” answered Lord Glenmorris; “it 
Ls the ornament of — happy faces.” 


PELHAM; OR, 


S20 

I looked up to my uncle’s countenance in sudden surprise. 

I cannot explain how I was struck with the expression 
which it wore : so calmly bright and open ! — it w r as as if 
the very daylight had settled there. 

“ You don’t understand this at present, Henry,” said he, 
after a moment’s silence ; “but you will find it, of all rules 
for the improvement of property, the easiest to learn. 
Enough of this now. Were you not in despair at leaving 
Paris ? ” 

“ I should have been, some months ago ; but w’hen I 
received my mother’s summons, I found the temptations 
of the continent very light in comparison with those held 
out to me here.” 

“ What, have you already arrived at that great epoch, 
when vanity casts off its first skin, and ambition succeeds 
to pleasure? Why — but thank Heaven that you have 
lost my moral — your dinner is announced.” 

Most devoutly did I thank Heaven, and most earnestly 
did I betake myself to do honor to my uncle’s hospitality. 

I had just finished my repast, when my mother entered. 
She w r as, as you might well expect from her maternal affec- 
tion, quite overpowered with joy, first, at finding my hair 
grown so much darker, and, secondly , at my looking so 
well. We spent the whole evening in discussing the great 
business for which I had been summoned. Lord Glenmorris 
promised me money, and my mother advice ; and I, in my 
turn, enchanted them, by promising to make the best use 
of both. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 221 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Cor. Your good voice, sir — what say you! 

2nd Cit. You shall have it, worthy sir. — Coriolanus . 

The borough of Buyemall had long been in undisputed 
possession of the Lords of Glenmorrris, till a rich banker, 
of the name of Luft-on, had bought a large estate in the 
immediate neighborhood of Glenmorris Castle. This event, 
which was the precursor of a mighty revolution in the 
borough of Buyemall, took place in the first year of my 
uncle’s accession to his property. A few months afterwards, 
a vacancy in the borough occurring, my uncle procured 
the nomination of one of his own political party. To the 
great astonishment of Lord Glenmorris, and the great 
gratification of the burghers of Buyemall, Mr. Lufton 
offered himself in opposition to the Glenmorris candidate. 
In this age of enlightenment, innovation has no respect 
for the most sacred institutions of antiquity. The burghers, 
for the only time since their creation as a body, were cast 
first into doubt, and secondly into rebellion. The Lufton 
faction, liorresco referens, were triumphant, and the rival 
candidate was returned. From that hour, the Borough 
of Buyemall was open to all the world. 

My uncle, who was a good easy man, and had some 
strange notions of free representation, and liberty of elec- 
tion, professed to care very little for this e?ent. He con- 
19 * 


222 


PELHAM; OR, 


tented himself, henceforward, with exerting his interest for 
one of the members, and left the other seat entirely at the 
disposal of the line of Lufton, which, from the time of the 
first competition, continued peaceably to monopolize it. 

During the last two years, my uncle’s candidate, the late 
Mr. Toolington, had been gradually dying of a dropsy, 
and the Luftons had been so particularly attentive to the 
honest burghers, that it was shrewdly suspected a bold 
push was to be made for the other seat. During the last 
month these doubts were changed into certainty. Mr. 
Augustus Leopold Lufton, eldest son to Benjamin Lufton, 
Esq., had publicly declared his intention of starting at the 
decease of Mr. Toolington ; against this personage behold 
myself armed and arrayed. 

Such is, in brief, the history of the borough, up to the 
time in which I was to take a prominent share in its 
interests and events. 

On the second day after my arrival at the castle, the 
following advertisement appeared at Buyemall : — 

“To the Independent Electors of the Borough of 

Buyemall. 

“ Gentlemen, 

“ In presenting myself to your notice, I advance a claim 
not altogether new and unfounded. My family have for 
centuries been residing amongst you, and exercising that 
interest which reciprocal confidence, and good offices, may 
fairly create. Should it be my good fortune to be chosen 
your representative, you may rely upon my utmost en- 
deavors to deserve that honor. One word upon the 


ADVENTURES OE A GENTLEMAN. 223 

principles I espouse : they are those which have found 
their advocates among the wisest and the best: they are 
those which, hostile alike to the encroachments of the 
crown, and the licentiousness of the people, would support 
the real interests of both. Upon these grounds, gentlemen, 
I have the honor to solicit your votes ; and it is with the 
sincerest respect for your ancient and honorable body, that 
I subscribe myself your very obedient servant, 

“ Henry Pelham.” 

“ Glenmorris Castle,” &c. &c. 

Such was the first public signification of my intentions ; 
It was drawn up by Mr. Sharpon, our lawyer, and con- 
sidered by our friends as a masterpiece : for, as my mother 
sagely observed, it did not commit me in a single instance 
— espoused no principle, and yet professed principles which 
all parties would allow were the best. 

At the first house where I called, the proprietor was a 
clergyman of good family, who had married a lady from 
Baker-street : of course the Reverend Combermere St. 
Quintin and his wife valued themselves upon being “gen- 
teel.” I arrived at an unlucky moment; on entering the 
hall, a dirty footboy was carrying a yellow-ware dish of 
potatoes into the back room. Another Ganymede (a sort 
of footboy-major), who opened the door, and who was still 
“settling himself into his coat , which he had slipped on at 
my tintinnabulary summons, ushered me with a mouth full 
of bread and cheese into this said back room. I gave up 
everything as lost, when I entered, and saw the lady 


224 


PELHAM; OR, 


helping her youngest child to some ineffable tiash, which 
I have since heard is called “blackberry pudding.” 
Another of the tribe was bawling out, with a loud, hungry 
tone — “A tatoe, pa !” The father himself was carving 
for the little group, with a napkin stuffed into the top 
button-hole of his waistcoat ; and the mother, with a long 
bib, plentifully bespattered with congealing gravy, and 
the nectarian liquor of the “blackberry pudding,” was 
sitting, with a sort of presiding complacency, on a high 
stool, like Juno on Olympus, enjoying rather than stilling 
the confused hubbub of the little domestic deities, who ate, 
clattered, spattered, and squabbled around her. 

Amidst all this din and confusion, the candidate for the 
borough of Buyemall was ushered into the household 
privacy of the genteel Mr. and Mrs. St. Quintin. Up 
started the lady at the sound of my name. The Rev. 
Combermere St. Quintin seemed frozen into stone. The 
plate between the youngest child and the blackberry 
pudding stood as still as the sun in Ajalon. The morsel 
between the mouth of the elder boy and his fork had a 
respite from mastication. The Seven Sleepers cculd not 
have been spell-bound more suddenly and completely. 

“ Ah,” cried I, advancing eagerly, with an air of serious 
and yet abrupt gladness ; “ how lucky that I should find 
you all at luncheon. I was up and had finished breakfast 
so early this morning that I am half famished. Only think 
how fortunate, Hardy, (turning round to one of the mem- 
bers of my committee, who accompanied me) ; I was just 
saying what would I not give to find Mr. St. Quintin at 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 225 

luncheon. Will you allow me, Madam, to make one of 
your party ? ” 

Mrs. St. Quintin colored and faltered, and muttered 
out something which I was fully resolved not to hear. I 
took a chair, looked round the table, not too attentively, 
and said — “ Cold veal ; ah ! ah ! nothing I like so much. 
May I trouble you, Mr. St. Quintin? — Hollo, my little 
man, let’s see if you can’t give me a potato. There’s a 
brave fellow. How old are you, my young hero? — to 
look at your mother, I should say two, to look at you , six.” 

“ He is four next May,” said his mother, coloring, and 
this time not painfully. 

“ Indeed ? ” said I, surveying him earnestly ; and then, 
in a graver tone, I turned to the Rev. Combermere with 
— “I think you have a branch of your family still settled 
in France. I met a St. Quintin (the Due de Poictiers) 
abroad.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Combermere, “yes, the name is still 
in Normandy, but I was not aware of the title.” 

“ No ! ” said I, with surprise ; “ and yet (with another 
look at the boy), it is astonishing how long family like- 
nesses last. I was a great favorite w r ith all the Due’s 
children. Do you know, I must trouble you for some more 
veal, it is so very good, and I am so very hungry.” 

“ How long have you been abroad ? ” said Mrs. St. 
Quintin, who had slipped off her bib, and smoothed her 
ringlets ; for which purposes I had been most adroitly 
looking in an opposite direction the last three minutes. 

“About seven or eight months. The fact is, that the « 

p 


226 


PELHAM; OR, 


continent only does for us English poeple to see — not to 
inhabit ; and }*et, there are some advantages there, Mr. 
St. Quintin ! — among others, that of the due respect an- 
cient birth is held in. Here, you know, ‘money makes 
the man,’ as the vulgar proverb has it ? ” 

“Yes,” said Mr. St. Quintin, with a sigh, “it is really 
dreadful to see those upstarts rising around us, and throw- 
ing every thing that is respectable and ancient into the 
back ground. Dangerous times these, Mr. Pelham — 
dangerous times ; nothing but innovation upon the most 
sacred institutions. I am sure, Mr. Pelham, that your 
principles must be decidedly against these new-fashioned 
doctrines, which lead to nothing but anarchy and confusion 
— absolutely nothing.” 

“I’m delighted to find you so much of my opinion !” 
said I. “ I cannot endure anything that leads to anarchy 
and confusion .” 

Here Mr. Combermere glanced at his wife, — who rose, 
called to the children, and, accompanied by them, grace- 
fully withdrew. 

“ Now then,” said Mr. Combermere, drawing his chair 
nearer to me, — “ now, Mr. Pelham, we can discuss these 
matters. Women are no politicians,” — and at this sage 
aphorism, the Rev. Combermere laughed a low solemn 
laugh, which could have come from no other lips. After 
I had joined in this grave merriment for a second or two, 
I hemmed thrice, and with a countenance suited to the 
subject and the host, plunged at once in medias res. 

“Mr. St. Quintin,” said I, “you are already aware, I 


* 

ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 227 

think, of ray intention of offering myself as a candidate 
for the borough of Buyemall. I could not think of such a 
measure, without calling upon you, the very, first person, 
to solicit the honor of your vote.” Mr. Combermere 
looked pleased, and prepared to reply. “You are the 
veri first person I called upon,” repeated I. 

Mr. Combermere smiled. “Well, Mr. Pelham,” said 
he, “ our families have long been on the most intimate 
footing.” 

“ Ever since,” cried I, “ ever since Henry the Seventh's 
time, have the houses of St. Quintin and Glenmorris been 
allied ! Your ancestors, you know, were settled in the 
county before our’s, and my mother assures me that she 
has read, in some old book or another, a long account of 
your forefather’s kind reception of mine at the castle of 
St. Quintin. I do trust, sir, that we have done nothing to 
forfeit a support so long afforded us.” 

Mr. St. Quintin bowed in speechless gratification ; at 
leugtli he found voice. “ But your principles, Mr. Pel- 
ham ? ” 

“ Quite your’s, my dear sir : quite against anarchy and 
confusion .” 

“But the Catholic question, Mr. Pelham?” 

“ Oh ! the Catholic question,” repeated I, “ is a question 
of great importance; it won’t be carried — no, Mr. St 
Quintin, no, it won’t be carried ; how did you think, my 
dear sir, that I could, in so great a question, act against 
ruy conscience 9 ” 

I said this with warmth, and Mr. St. Quintin was either 


228 


PELHAM; OR, 


too convinced or too timid to pursue so dangerous a topic 
any further. I blessed my stars when he paused, and, not 
giving him time to think of another piece of debatable 
ground, continued, — “ Yes, Mr. St. Quintiu, I called upon 
you the very first person. Your rank in the county, your 
ancient birth, to be sure, demanded it ; but I only con- 
sidered the long, long time the St. Quintins and Pelhams 
had been connected.” 

“Well,”said the Rev. Combermere, “ well, Mr. Pelham, 
you shall have my support; and I wish, from my very 
heart, all success to a young gentleman of such excellent 
principles.” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

More voices ! 

* * * * * * 

Sic. How now, my masters, have you chosen him ? 

Cit. He has our voices, sir ! — Coriolanus. 

From Mr. Combermere St. Quintin’s we went to a bluff, 
hearty, radical wine-merchant, whom I had very little 
probability of gaining; but my success with the clerical 
Armado had inspirited me, and I did not suffer myself to 
fear, though I could scarcely persuade myself to hope. 
How exceedingly impossible it is, in governing men, to 
lay down positive rules, even where we know the temper 
of the individual to be gained I “You must be very stiff 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


229 


and formal with the St. Quintins,” said my mother. She 
was right in the general admonition, and had I found them 
all seated in the best drawing-room, Mrs. St. Quintin in 
her best attire, and the children on their best behavior, 
I should have been as stately as Don Quixote in a brocade 
dressing-gown ; but finding them in such dishabille, I 
could not affect too great a plainness and almost coarseness 
of bearing, as if I had never been accustomed to anything 
more refined than I found there ; nor might I, by any 
appearance of pride in myself, put them in mind of the 
wound their own pride had received. The difficulty was 
to blend with this familiarity a certain respect, just the 
same as a French ambassador might have testified towards 
the august person of George the Third, had he found his 
Majesty at dinner at one o’clock, over mutton and turnips. 

In overcoming this difficulty, I congratulated myself 
with as much zeal and fervor as if I had performed the 
most important victory ; for, whether it be innocent or 
sanguinary, in war or at an election, there is no triumph 
so gratifying to the viciousness of human nature, as the 
conquest of our fellow beings. 

But I must return to my wine-merchant, Mr. Briggs. 
His house was at the entrance of the town of Buyemall ; 
it stood enclosed in a snail garden, flaming with crocuses 
and sunflowers, and exhibiting an arbor to the right, wdiere, 
in the summer evenings, the respectable owner might be 
seen, with his waistcoat unbuttoned, in order to give that 
just and rational liberty to the subordinate parts of the 
human commonwealth which the increase of their conse* 
I.— 20 


230 


PELHAMJ OR, 


quence, after the hour of dinner, naturally demands. Nor, 
in those moments of dignified ease, was the worthy burghe? 
without the divine inspirations of complacent contem- 
plation which the weed of Virginia bestoweth. There, 
as he smoked and puffed, and looked out upon the bright 
crocuses, and meditated over the dim recollections of the 
hesternal journal, did Mr. Briggs revolve in his mind the 
vast importance of the borough of Buyemall to the British 
empire, and the vast importance of John Briggs to the 
borough of Buyemall. 

When I knocked at the door a prettyish maid-servant 
opened it with a smile, and a glance which the vendor of 
wine might probably have taught her himself after too 
large potations of his own spirituous manufactures. I was 
ushered into a small parlor — where sat, sipping brandy 
and water, a short, stout, monosyllabic sort of figure, 
corresponding in outward shape to the name of Briggs 
— even unto a very nicety. 

“Mr. Pelham,” said this gentleman, who was dressed 
in a brown coat, white waistcoat, buff-colored inex- 
pressibles, with long strings, and gaiters of the same hue 
and substance as the breeches — “Mr. Pelham, pray be 
seated — excuse my rising, I ’m like the bishop in the story, 
Mr. Pelham, too old to rise ; ” and Mr. Briggs grunted 
out a short, quick, querulous, “he — he — he,” to which, 
of course, I replied to the best of my cachinnatory powers. 

No sooner, however, did I begin to laugh, than Mr. 
Briggs stopped short — eyed me with a sharp, suspicious 
glance — shook his head, and pushed back his chair at least 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 231 

four feet from the spot it had hitherto occupied. Ominous 
signs, thought I — I must sound this gentleman a little 
further, before I venture to treat him as the rest of his 
species. 

“You have a nice situation here, Mr. Briggs,’’ said I. 
“Ah, Mr. Pelham, and a nice vote too, which is some- 
what more to your purpose, I believe.” 

“ Why,” said I, “ Mr. Briggs, to be frank with you, I 
do call upon you for the purpose of requesting your vote ; 
give it me, or not, just as you please. You may be sure 
I shall not make use of the vulgar electioneering arts to 
coax gentlemen out of their votes. I ask you for your’s as 
one freeman solicits another : if you think my opponent a 
fitter person to represent your borough, give your support 
to him in Heaven’s name : if not, and you place confidence 
in me, I will, at least, endeavor not to betray it.” 

“Well done, Mr. Pelham,” exclaimed Mr. Briggs : “I 
love candor — you speak just after my own heart; but 
you must be aware that one does not like to be bamboozled 
out of one’s right of election, by a smooth-tongued fellow, 
who sends one to the devil the moment the election is over 
— or still worse, to be frightened out of it by some stiff- 
necked proud coxcomb, with his pedigree in his hand, and 
his acres in his face, thinking he does you a marvellous 
honor to ask you at all. Sad times these for thjs free 
country, Mr. Pelham, when a parcel of conceited paupers, 
like Parson Quinny (as I call that reverend fool, Mr. 
Combermere St. Quintin), imagine they have a right to 
dictate to warm, honest men, who can buy their whole 


PELHAM; OR, 


232 

\ 

Family out and out. I tell you what, Mr. Pelham, we shall 
never do anything for this country till we get rid of those 
landed aristocrats, with their ancestry and humbug. I 
hope you’re of my mind, Mr. Pelham.” 

“ Why,” answered I, “ there is certainly nothing so 
respectable in Great Britain as our commercial interest. 
A man who makes himself is worth a thousand men made 
by their forefathers.” 

“ Yery true, Mr. Pelham,” said the wine-merchant, ad- 
vancing his chair to me ; and then, laying a short, thickset 
finger upon my arm — he looked up in my face with an 
investigating air, and said : — “ Parliamentary Reform — 
what do you say to that ? you ’re not an advocate for an- 
cient abuses and modern corruption, I hope, Mr. Pelham ? ” 
“ By no means,” cried I, with an honest air of indignation 
— “I have a conscience, Mr. Briggs, I have a conscience 
as a public man, no less than as a private one!” 

“ Admirable ! ” cried my host. 

“No,” I continued, glowing as I proceeded, “no, Mr 
Briggs ; I disdain to talk too much about my principles 
before they are tried ; the proper time to proclaim them 
is when they have effected some good by being put into 
action. I won’t supplicate your vote, Mr. Briggs, as my 
opponent may do ; there must be a mutual confidence be- 
tween my supporters and myself. When I appear before 
you a second time, you will have a right to see ho 19 far I 
have wronged that trust reposed in me as your repre- 
sentative. Mr. Briggs, I dare say it may seem rude and 
impolitic to address you in this manner ; but I am a plain, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 233 


blunt man, and I disdain the vulgar arts of electioneering, 
Mr. Briggs.” 

“ Give us your fist, sir,” cried the wine-merchant, in a 
transport ; “give us your fist; I promise you my support, 
and I am delighted to vote for a young gentleman of such 
excellent principles .” 

So much, dear reader, for Mr. Briggs, who became from 
that interview my staunchest supporter. I will not linger 
longer upon this part of my career : the above conversations 
may serve as a sufficient sample of my electioneering 
qualifications : and so I shall merely add, that after the 
due quantum of dining, drinking, spouting, lying, equivo- 
cating, bribing, rioting, head-breaking, promise-breaking, 
and — thank the god Mercury, who presides over elections 
— chairing of successful candidateship, I found myself 
fairly chosen member for the borough of Buyemall ! * 

* It is fortunate that Mr. Pelham’s election was not for a rotten 
borough ; so that the satire of this chapter is not yet obsolete nor 
unsalutary. Parliamentary Reform has not terminated the tricks 
of canvassing — and Mr. Pelham’s descriptions are as applicable 
now as when first written. All personal canvassing is but for the 
convenience of cunning — the opportunity for manner to disguise 
principle. Public meetings, in which expositions of opinion must 
be clear, and will be cross-examined, are the only legitimate mode 
of canvass. The English begin to discover this truth ; may thes« 
scenes serve to quicken their apprehension. — Tiie Author. 


SO* 


234 


PELHAM} OE, 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Political education is like the keystone to the arch — the strengtn 
of the whole depends upon it. — Encycl. Britt. Sup. Art. Education. 

I was sitting in the library of Glenmorris Castle, about a 
week after all the bustle of contest and the eclat of victory 
had begun to subside, and quietly dallying with the dry 
toast, which constituted then, and does to this day, my 
ordinary breakfast, when I was accosted by the following 
speech from my uncle: — 

“ Henry, your success has opened to you a new career: 

I trust you intend to pursue it?” 

“Certainly,” was my answer. 

“But you know, my dear Henry, that though you have ' 
great talents, which, I confess, I was surprised in the 
course of the election to discover, yet they want that care- 
ful cultivation, which, in order to shine in the House of 
Commons, they must receive. Entre nous, Henry ; a little 
reading would do you no harm.” 

“Very well,” said I, “suppose I begin with Walter 
Scott’s novels ; I am told they are extremely entertaining,” 

“True,” answered my uncle, “but they don’t contain 
the most accurate notions of history, or the soundest prin- 
ciples of political philosophy in the world. What did you 
think of doing to-day, Henry ? ” 

“ Nothing ! ” said I, very innocently. 

© 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


235 


u I should conceive that to be an usual answer of jours, 
Heniy, to any similar question.” 

“ I think it is,” replied I, with great naivete. 

“ Well, then, let us have the breakfast things taken away, 
and do something this morning.” 

“ Willingly,” said I, ringing the bell. 

The table was cleared, and my uncle began his exami- 
nation. Little, poor man, had he thought, from my usual 
bearing, and the character of my education, that in general 
literature there were few subjects on which I was not to 
the full as well read as himself. I enjoyed his surprise, 
when, little by little, he began to discover the extent of 
my information ; but I was mortified to find it was only 
surprise, not delight. 

“ You have,” said he, “ a considerable store of learning : 
far more than I could possibly have imagined you possess- 
ed ; but it is knowledge , not learning, in which I wish 
you to be skilled. I would rather, in order to gift you 
with the former, that you were more destitute of the latter. 
The object of education is to instil principles which are 
hereafter to guide and instruct us ; facts are only desirable, 
so far as they illustrate those principles ; principles ought 
therefore to precede facts ! What then can we think of a 
system which reverses this evident order, overloads the 
memory with facts, and those of the most doubtful descrip- 
tion, while it leaves us entirely in the dark with regard to 
the principles which could alone render this heterogeneous 
mass of any advantage or avail ? Learning, without 
knowledge, is but a bundle of prejudices ; a lumber of inert 


236 


PELHAM; OR, 


matter set before the threshold of the understanding to 
the exclusion of common sense. Pause for a moment, and 
recall those of your contemporaries who are generally 
considered well-informed ; tell me if their information has 
made them a whit the wiser ; if not, it is only sanctified 
ignorance. Tell me if names with them are not a sanction 
for opinion ; quotations, the representatives of axioms ? 
All they have learned only serves as an excuse for all they 
are ignorant of. In one month, I will engage that you 
shall have a juster and deeper insight into wisdom, than 
they have been all their lives acquiring ; the great error 
of education is to fill the mindy'ir.^ with antiquated authors, 
and then to try the principles of the present day by the 
authorities and maxims of the past. We will pursue, for 
our plan, the exact reverse of the ordinary method. We 
will learn the doctrines of the day, as the first and most 
necessary step, and we will then glance over those which 
have passed away, as researches rather curious than useful. 

“You see this very small pamphlet ; it is a paper by 
Mr. Mill, upon Government. We will know this thorough- 
ly, and when we have done so, we may rest assured that 
we have a far more accurate information upon the head 
and front of all political knowledge, than two-thirds of 
the young men whose cultivation of mind you have usually 
heard panegyrized.” 

So saying, my uncle opened the pamphlet. He pointed 
out to me its close and mathematical reasoning, in wdiich 
no flaw could be detected, nor deduction controverted ; 
and he filled up, as we proceeded, from the science of his 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 237 

own clear and enlarged mind, the various parts which the 
political logician had left for reflection to complete. My 
uncle had this great virtue of an expositor, that he never 
over-explained ; he never made a parade of his lecture, 
nor confused what was simple by unnecessary comment. 

When we broke off our first day’s employment, I was 
quite astonished at the new light which had gleamed upon 
me. I felt like Sinbad, the sailor, when, in wandering 
through the cavern in which he had been buried alive, he 
caught the first glimpse of the bright day. Naturally 
eager in everything I undertook, fond of application, and 
addicted to reflect over the various bearings of any object 
that once engrossed my attention, I made great advance 
in my new pursuit. After my uncle had brought me to 
be thoroughly conversant with certain and definite prin- 
ciples, we proceeded to illustrate them from fact. For 
instance, when we had finished the 11 Essay upon Govern- 
ment,” we examined into the several Constitutions of 
England, British America, and France ; the three countries 
which pretend the most to excellence in their government : 
and we were enabled to perceive and judge the defects and 
merits of each, because we had, previously to our exami- 
nation, established certain rules, by which they were to be 
investigated and tried. Here my skeptical indifference to 
facts was my chief reason for readily admitting knowledge. 
I had no prejudices to contend with ; no obscure notions 
gleaned from the past; no popular maxims cherished as 
truths. Everything was placed before me as before a 
wholly impartial inquirer — freed from all the decorations 


238 


/ 


PELIIAM; OR, 


and delusions of sects and parties : every argument was 
stated with logical precision — every opinion referred to 
a logical test. Hence, in a very short time, I owned the 
justice of my uncle’s assurance, as to the comparative 
concentration of knowledge. We went over the w'hole of 
Mill’s admirable articles in the Encyclopaedia, over the 
more popular works of Bentham, and thence we plunged 
into the recesses of political economy. I know not why 
this study has been termed uninteresting. No sooner had 
I entered upon its consideration, than I could scarcely 
tear myself from it. Never from that moment to this bare 
I ceased to pay it the most constant attention, not so much 
as a study as an amusement ; but at that time my uncle’s 
object was not to make me a profound political economist. 
“I wish,” said he, “merely to give you an acquaintance 
with the principles of the science ; not that you may be 
entitled to boast of knowledge, but that you may be ena- 
bled to avoid ignorance ; not that you may discover truth, 
but that you may detect error. Of all sciences, political 
economy is contained in the fewest books, and yet is the 
most difficult to master ; because all its higher branches 
require earnestness of reflection, proportioned to the scan- 
tiness of reading. Ricardo’s w r ork, together with some 
conversational enlargement on the several topics he treats 
of, will be enough for our present purpose. I wish, then , 
to show you, how inseparably allied is the greal science 
of public policy with that of private morality. And this, 
Henry, is the grandest obiect of all. Now to our present 
study.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 239 


Well, gentle reader, (I love, by-the-by, as you already 
perceive, that old-fashioned courtesy of addressing you) — 
well, to finish this part of my life, which, as it treats rather 
of my attempts at reformation than my success in error, 
must begin to weary you exceedingly, I acquired more 
from my uncle’s conversation than the books we read, a 
sufficient acquaintance with the elements of knowledge, to 
satisfy myself, and to please my instructor. And I must 
say, in justification of my studies and my tutor, that I 
derived one benefit from them which has continued with 
me to this hour — viz., I obtained a clear knowledge of 
moral principle. Before that time, the little ability I 
possessed only led me into acts, which, I fear, most be- 
nevolent reader, thou hast already sufficiently condemned ; 
my good feelings — for I was not naturally bad — never 
availed me the least when present temptation came into 
my way. I had no guide but passion ; no rule but the 
impulse of the moment. What else could have been the 
result of my education ? If I was immoral, it was because 
I was never taught morality. Nothing, perhaps, is less 
innate than virtue. I own that the lessons of my uncle 
did not work miracles — that, living in the world, I have 
not separated myself from its errors and its follies : the 
vortex was too strong — the atmosphere too contagious: 
but I have at least avoided the crimes into which my 
temper would most likely have driven me. I ceased to 
look upon the world as a game one was to play fairly, if 
possible — but where a little cheating was readily allowed ; 
1 no ionger divorced the interests of other men from my 


240 


PELHAM; OR, 


own : if I endeavored to blind them, it was neither by 
unlawful means, nor for a purely selfish end: — if — but 
come, Henry Pelham, thou hast praised thyself enough for 
the present; and, after all, thy future adventures will best 
tell if thou art really amended. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Mihi jam non regia Roma, 

Sed vacnum Tibur placet. — Hor. 

My dear child,” said my mother to me, affectionately, 
“you must be very much bored here. To say truth, I am 
so myself. Your uncle is a very good man, but he does 
not make his house pleasant ; and I have, lately, been very 
much alraid that he should convert you into a mere book- 
worm ; after all, jny dear Henry, you are quite clever 
enough to trust to your own ability. Your great geniuses 
never read.” 

“ True, my dear mother,” said I, with a most unequivocal 
yawn, and depositing on the table Mr. Bentham on Popular 
Fallacies; “true, and I am quite of your opinion. Hid 
you see in the Post of this morning, how full Cheltenham 
was ? ” 

“ Yes, Henry ; and now you mention it, I don’t think 
you could do better than to go there for a month or two 
As for me, I must return to your father, whom I left a; 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


241 


Lord H ’s : a place, entre nous, very little more 

amusing than this — but then one does get one’s ecartG 
table, and that dear Lady Roseville, your old acquaint- 
ance, is staying there.” 

“Well,” said I, musingly, “suppose we take our de- 
parture the beginning of next week ? — our way will be 
the same as far as London, and the plea of attending you 
will be a good excuse to my uncle for proceeding no 
farther in these confounded books.” 

“ C’est une affaire finie ,” replie’d my mother, “and I 
will speak to your uncle myself.” 

Accordingly, the necessary disclosure of our intentions 
was made. Lord Glenmorris received it with proper 
indifference, so far as my mother was concerned ; but 
expressed much pain at my leaving him so soon. However, 
when he found I was not so much gratified as honored by 
his wishes for my longer sejour, he gave up the point with 
a delicacy that enchanted me. 

The morning of our departure arrived. Carriage at the 
door — bandboxes in the passage — breakfast on the table 
• — myself in my great coat — my uncle in his great chair. 
“ My dear boy,” said he, “ I trust we shall meet again soon : 
you have abilities that may make you capable of effecting 
much good to your fellow-creatures; but you are fond of 
the world, and, though not averse to application, devoted 
to pleasure, and likely to pervert the gifts you possess. At 
all events, you have now learned, both as a public character 
and a private individual, the difference between good and 
evil. Make but this distinction : that whereas, in political 
I. — 21 


Q 


242 


PELHAM; OR, 


science, the rules you have learned may be fixed and uner* 
ring, yet the application of them must vary with time and 
circumstance. We must bend, temporize, and frequently 
withdraw, doctrines which invariable in their truth, the 
prejudices of the time will not invariably allow, and even 
relinquish a faint hope of obtaining a great good, for the 
certainty of obtaining a lesser ; yet in the science of private 
morals, which relate for the main part to ourselves indi- 
vidually, we have no right to deviate one single iota from 
the rule of our conduct. Neither time nor circumstance 
must cause us to modify or to change. Integrity knows 
no variation; honesty no shadow of turning. We must 
pursue the same course — stern and uncompromising — in 
the full persuasion that the path of right is like the bridge 
from earth to heaven, in the Mahometan creed ; — if we 
swerve but a single hair’s-breath, we are irrevocably lost.” 
At this moment my mother joined us, with a “Well, my 
dear Henry, everything is ready — we have no time to lose.” 
My uncle rose, pressed my hand, and left in it a pocket- 
book, which I afterwards discovered to be most satisfac- 
torily furnished. We took an edifying and affectionate 
farewell of each other, pa*ssed through the two rows of 
servants, drawn up in martial array, along the great hall, 
and I entered the carriage, and went off with the rapidity 
of a novel upon “fashionable life.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 243 


♦ 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Die — si grave non est — 

Quse prima iratum ventrem placaverit esca. — Hon. 

I did not remain above a day or two in town. I had 
never seen much of the humors of a watering-place, and 
my love of observing character made me exceedingly im- 
patient for that pleasure. Accordingly, the first bright 
morning, I set off for Cheltenham. I was greatly struck 
with the entrance to that town : it is to these watering- 
places that a foreigner should be taken, in order to give 
him an adequate idea of the magnificent opulence and 
universal luxury of England. Our country has, in every 
province, what France only has in Paris — a capital, 
consecrated to gaiety, idleness, and enjoyment. London 
is both too busy in one class of society, and too pompous 
in another, to please a foreigner, who has not excellent 
recommendations to private circles. But at Brighton, 
Cheltenham, Hastings, Bath, he may, as at Paris, find all 
the gaieties of society without knowing a single individual. 

My carriage stopped at the Hotel. A corpulent 

and stately waiter, with gold buckles to a pair of very tight 
pantaloons, showed me up stairs. I found myself in a 
tolerable room facing the street, and garnished with two 
pictures of rocks and rivers, with a comely flight of crows, 


244 


PELHAM; OR, 


hovering in the horizon of both, as natural as possible — * 
only they were a little larger than the trees. Over the 
chimney-piece, where I had fondly hoped to find a looking- 
glass, was a grave print of General Washington, with ono 
hand stuck out like the spout of a tea-pot. Between the 
two windows (unfavorable position!) was an oblong mirror, 
- to which I immediately hastened, and had the pleasure of 
seeing my complexion catch the color of the curtains that 
overhung the glass on each side, and exhibit the pleasing 
rurality of a pale green. 

I shrunk back aghast, turned, and beheld the waiter. 
Had I seen myself in a glass delicately shaded by rose-hued 
curtains, I should gently and smilingly have said, “ Have 
the goodness to bring me the bill of fare.” As it was, I 
growled out, “Bring me the bill.” 

The stiff waiter bowed solemnly, and withdrew slowly. 
I looked round the room once more, and discovered the 
additional adornments of a tea-urn, and a book. “ Thank 
Heaven,” thought I, as I took up the latter, “it can’t be 
one of Jeremy Bentham’s.” No ! it was the Cheltenham 
Guide. I turned to the head of amusements — “Dress 

ball at the rooms every ” some day or other — which 

of the seven I utterly forget ; but it was the same as 
that which witnessed my first arrival in the small drawing- 
room of the Hotel. 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” said I to myself, as Bedos entered 
with my things, and was ordered immediately to have all 
in preparation for “ the dress-ball at the rooms,” at the 
hour of half-past ten. The waiter entered with the bill 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 2*5 

u Soups, chops, cutlets, steaks, roast joints, &c., &c. — - 
lion, birds . 11 

“ Get some soup,” said I, “ a slice or two of lion, and 
half a dozen birds.” 

“Sir,” said the solemn waiter, “you can’t have less 
than a whole lion, and we have only two birds in the house.” 

“Pray,” asked I, “are you in the habit of supplying 
your larder from Exeter ’Change, or do you breed lions 
here like poultry?” 

“ Sir,” answered the grim waiter, never relaxing into a 
smile, “ we have lions brought us from the country e^ery 
day. ” 

• 0 $ 

“What do you pay for them?” said I. 

“About three and sipence a-piece, sir.” 

“ Humph ! market in Africa overstocked,” thougl t I. 

“ Pray, how do you dress an animal of that descripti r\ ? ” 

“ Roast and stuff him, sir, and serve him up with ci r>*ant 
jelly.” 

“ What ! like a hare ! ” 

“A lion is a hare, sir.” 

“ What ! ” 

“Yes, sir, it is a hare ! — but we call it a lion, became 
of the Game laws.” 

“Bright discovery,” thought I; “they have a ne v 
language in Cheltenham; nothing’s like travelling o 
enlarge the mind.” “And the birds,” said I, aloud, “» * 
r either humming-birds, nor ostriches, I suppose?” 

“No, sir; they are partridges.” 

21 * 


246 


PELHAM; OR, 


"Well, then, give me some soup, a cutlet, and a ‘bird,’ 
as you term it, and be quick about it.” 

“ It shall be done with despatch,” answered the pompous 
attendant, and withdrew. 

Is there, in the whole course of this pleasant and varying 
life, which young gentlemen and ladies write verses to 
prove same and sorrowful, — is there in the whole course of 
it, one half-hour really and genuinely disagreeable ? — if so, 
it is the half-hour before dinner at a strange inn. Neverthe- 
less, by the help of philosophy and the window, I managed 
to endure it with great patience : and, though I was famish- 
ing with hunger, I pretended the indifference of a sage, even 
% 

when the dinner was at length announced. I coquetted a 
whole minute with my napkin, before I attempted the soup, 
and I helped myself to the potatory food with a slow 
dignity that must have perfectly won the heart of the 
solemn waiter. The soup was a little better than hot wa- 
ter, and the sharp-sauced cutlet than leather and vinegar; 
howbeit, I attacked them with the vigorof an Irishman, 
and washed them down with a bottle of the worst liquor 
ever dignified with the venerabile nomen of claret. The 
bird was tough enough to have passed for an ostrich in 
miniature ; and I felt its ghost hopping about the stomachic 
sepulchre to which I consigned it, the whole of that even- 
ing, and a great portion of the next day, when a glass of 
curaqoa laid it at rest. 

After this splendid repast, I flung myself back on my 
chair with the complacency of a man who has dined well, 
and dozed away the time till the hour of dressing. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 247 


“Now,’* thought I, as I placed myself before my glass, 
“ shall I gently please, or sublimely astonish the * fash- 
ionables ’ of Cheltenham ? — Ah, bah ! the latter school is 
vulgar, Byron spoilt it. Don’t put out that chain, Bedos 
— I wear — the black coat, waistcoat, and trowsers. Brush 
my hair as much out of curl as you can, and give an air 
/>f graceful negligence to my tout ensemble .” 

“ Oui, Monsieur , je comprends ,” answered Bedos. 

I was soon dressed, for it is the design, not the execution, 
of all great undertakings which requires deliberation and 
delay. Action cannot be too prompt. A chair was called 
and Henry Pelham was conveyed to the rooms. 


CHAPTER XL. 

Now see, prepared to lead the sprightly dance, 

The lovely nymphs, and well-dress’d youths advance ; 

The spacious room receives its jovial guest, 

And the floor shakes with pleasing weight oppress’d. 

Art of Dancing. 

Page. His name, my lord, is Tyrrell. — Richard III. 

Upon entering, I saw several heads rising and sinking, 
to the tune of “ Cherry ripe.” A whole row of stiff necks, 
in cravats of the most unexceptionable length and breadth, 
were just before me. A tall thin young man, with dark 
wiry hair brushed on one side, was drawing on a pair of 
white Woodstock gloves, and affecting to look round tha 
room with the supreme indifference of bon ton. 


248 


PELHAM; OR, 


“Ah, Ritson,” said another young Cheltenhamian to 
him of the Woodstock gauntlets, “hav’n’t you been danc- 
ing yet?/ 

“No, Smith, ’pon honor!” answered Mr. Ritson ; “it 
is so overpoweringly hot ; no fashionable man dances now ; 
— it isn't the thing” 

“ Why,” replied Mr. Smith, who was a good-natured 
looking person, with a blue coat and brass buttons, and a 
gold pin in his neckcloth, “ why, they dance at Almack’s, 
don*t they ? ” 

“No, ’pon honor,” murmured Mr. Ritson; “no, they 
just walk a quadrille or spin a waltz , as my friend, Lord 
Bobadob, calls it; nothing more — no, hang dancing, ’tis 
so vulgar.” 

A stout, red-faced man, about thirty, with wet auburn 
hair, a marvellously fine waistcoat, and a badly washed frill, 
now joined Messrs. Ritson and Smith. 

“Ah, Sir Ralph,” cried Smith, “how d’ye do? been 
hunting all day, I suppose ? ” 

“Yes, old cock,” replied Sir Ralph; “been after the 
brush till I am quite done up ; such a glorious run ! By 
G- — , you should have seen my grey mare, Smith ; by Gr — , 
she’s a glorious fencer.” 

“You don’t hunt, do you, Ritson ? ” interrogated Mr. 
Smith. 

“Yes, I do,” replied Mr. Ritson, affectedly playing with 
his Woodstock glove ; “yes, but I only hunt in Leicester- 
shire with my friend, Lord Bobadob ; ’tis not the thing to 
hunt anywhere else.” 


? 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


249 


Sir Ralph stared at the speaker with mute contempt : 
while Mr. Smith, like the ass between the hay, stood 
balancing betwixt the opposing merits of the baronet and 
the beau. Meairwhile, a smiling, nodding, affected female 
thing, in ringlets and flowers, flirted up to the trio. 

“ Now, really, Mr. Smith, you should deence ; a feeshion- 
able young man, like you — I don’t know what the young 
leedies will say to you.” And the fair seducer laughed 
bewitchingly. 

“ You are very good, Mrs. Dollimore,” replied Mr 
Smith, with a blush and a low bow ; “ but Mr. Ritson tells 
me it is not the thing to dance.” 

“Oh,” cried Mrs. Dollimore, “but then he’s seech a 
naughty, conceited creature — don’t follow his example, 
Meester Smith ; ” and again the good lady laughed im- 
moderately. 

“Nay, Mrs. Dollimore,” said Mr. Ritson, passing his 
hand through his abominable hair, “ you are too severe ; 

but tell me, Mrs. Dollimore, is the Countess coming 

here ? ” 

“ Now, reelly, Mr. Ritson, you, who are the pink of 
feeshion, ought to know better than I can ; but I hear so.” 

“Do you know the countess?” said Mr. Smith, in 
respectful surprise, to Ritson. 

“ Oh, very well,” replied the Coryphaeus of Cheltenham, 
swinging his Woodstock glove to and fro ; “ I have often 
danced with her at Almack’s.” 

“ Is she a good deencer ?” asked Mrs. Dollimore. 


250 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ 0, capital,” responded Mr. Ritson ; “ she’s such a 
nice genteel little figure.” 

Sir Ralph, apparently tired of this “ feeshionable ” con- « 
versation, swaggered away. 

“Pray,” said Mrs. Dollimore, “who is that geentle- 
man ? ” 

“Sir Ralph Rumford,” replied Smith, eagerly, “a 
particular friend of mine at Cambridge.” 

“ I wonder if he’s going to make a long steey ? ” said 
Mrs. Dollimore. 

* 

“Yes, I believe so,” replied Mr. Smith, “if we make it 
agreeable to him.” 

“ You must poositively introduce him to me,” said Mrs. 
Dollimore. 

“ I will, with great pleasure,” said the good-natured 
Mr. Smith. 

“ Is Sir Ralph a man of fashion ? ” inquired Mr. Ritson. 

“He’s a baronet!” emphatically pronounced Mr. 
Smith. 

“Ah 1 ” replied Ritson, “but he may be a man of rank, 
without being a man of fashion.” 

“ True,” lisped Mrs. Dollimore. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Smith, with an air of puzzled 
wonderment, “but he has 7,000Z. a-year.” 

“ Has he, indeed ? ” cried Mrs. Dollimore, surprised 
into her natural tone of voice ; and, at that moment, a 
young lady, ringleted and flowered like herself, joined 
her, and accosted her by the endearing appellation of 
“ Mamma.” 


. adventures of a gentleman. 251 

% 

“Have you been dancing, my love?” inquired Mrs. 
Dollimore. 

“Yes, ma ; with Captain Johnson.” 

“ Oh,” said the mother, with a toss of her head ; and, 
giving her daughter a significant push, she walked away 
with her to another end of the room, to talk about Sir 
Ralph Rumford, and his seven thousand pounds a-year. 

“ Well ! ” thought I, “ odd people these ; let us enter a 
little farther into this savage country.” In accordance 
with this reflection, I proceeded towards the middle of the 
room. 

“ Who’s that ? ” said Mr. Smith, in a loud whisper as 
I passed him. 

“’Pon honor,” answered Ritson, “ I don’t know 1 but 
e’s a deuced neat-looking fellow.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Ritson,” said my vanity ; “ you are 
not so offensive, after all.” 

I paused to look at the dancers ; a middle-aged, re- 
spectable-looking gentleman was beside me. Common 
people, after they have passed forty, grow social. My 
neighbor hemmed twice, and made preparation for speak- 
ing. “ I may as well encourage him,” was my reflection ; 
accordingly I turned round, with a most good-natured 
expression of countenance. 

“A fine room this, sir,” said the man immediately. 

“ Yery,” said I, with a smile, “ and extremely well filled.” 

“Ah, sir,” answered my neighbor, “ Cheltenham is not 
as it used to be some fifteen years ago. I have seen as 
many as one thousand two hundred and fifty persons within 


252 


PELHAMJ OR, 


these walls ” (certain people are always so d d par* 

ticularizing) ; “ ay, sir,” pursued my laudator tempons 
acti, “and half the peerage here into the bargain.” 

“ Indeed ! ” quoth I, with an air of surprise suited to 
the information I received, “ but the society is very good 
still, is it not ? ” 

“Oh, very genteel ,” replied the man; “but not so 
dashing as it used to be.” (Oh ! those two horrid words ! 

low enough to suit even the author of “ .”) 

“ Pray,” asked I, glancing at Messrs. Ri*tson and Smith, 
“ do you know who those gentlemen are ? ” 

“ Extremely well ! ” replied my neighbor ; “ the tall 
young man is Mr. Eitson ; his mother has a house in 
3aker-street, and gives quite elegant parties. He’s a most 
genteel young man ; but such an insufferable coxcomb.” 
“And the other?” said I. 

“ Oh ! he’s a Mr. Smith ; his father was an eminent 
brewer, and is lately dead, leaving each of his sons thirty 
thousand pounds ; the young Smith is a knowing hand , 
and wants to spend his money w T ith spirit. He has a great 
passion for ‘ high life? and therefore attaches himself much 
to Mr. Eitson, who is quite that nay inclined .” 

“ He could not have selected a better model,” said I. 

“ True,” rejoined my Cheltenham Asmodeus, with naive 
simplicity ; “ but I hope he won’t adopt his conceit as well 
as his elegance .” 

“I shall die,” said I to myself, “if I talk with this 
fellow any longer,” and I was just going to glide away, 
when a tall, stately dowager, with two lean, scraggy 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


2f3 

daughters, entered the room ; I could not resist pausing 
to inquire who they were. 

My friend looked at me with a very altered and disre- 
spectful air at this interrogation. “ Who ? ” said he, “ why 
the Countess of Babbleton and her two daughters, the 
Honorable Lady Jane Babel, and the Honorable Lady 
Mary Babel. They are the great people of Cheltenham,” 
pursued he, “and it’s a fine thing to get into their set ” 

Meanwhile Lady Babbleton and her two daughters 
swept up the room, bowing and nodding to the riven ranks 
on each side, who made their salutations with the most 
profound respect. My experienced eye detected in a 
moment that Lady Babbleton, in spite of her title and her 
stateliness, was exceedingly the reverse of good ton , and 
the daughters (who did not resemble the scrag of mutton, 
but, its ghost) had an appearance of sour affability, which 
wa- as different from the manners of proper society as it 
possibly could be. 

I wondered greatly who and what they were. In the 
eyes of the Cheltenhamians, they were the countess and 
her daughters ; and any further explanation would have 
beea deemed quite superfluous ; further explanation I was, 
however, determined to procure, and was walking across 
the room in profound meditation as to the method in which 
the discovery should be made, when I was startled by the 
voice of Sir Lionel Garrett: I turned round, and to my 
: nei pressible joy, beheld that worthy baronet. 

“ Bless me, Pelham,” said he, “ how delighted I am to 
I —22 


2§4 PELHAM; OE, 

Bee you. Lady Harriet, here’s your old favorite, Mr, 
Pelham.” 

Lady Harriet was all smiles and pleasure. “ Give me 
your arm,” said she : “ I must go and speak to Lady 
Babbleton — odious woman !” 

“ Do, my dear Lady Harriet,” said I, “ explain to me 
what Lady Babbleton was.” 

“ Why — she was a milliner, and took in the late lord, 
who was an idiot. — Voild tout!” 

“Perfectly satisfactory,” replied I. 

“ Or, short and sweet, as Lady Babbleton would say,” 
replied Lady Harriet, laughing. 

“In antithesis to her daughters, who are long and sour.” 
“ Oh, you satirist ! ” said the affected Lady Harriet 
(who was only three removes better than the Cheltenham 
countess) ; “ but tell me, how long have you been at 
Cheltenham ? ” 

“About four hours and a half ! ” 

“ Then you don’t know any of the lions here ? ” 

“ None, except (I added to myself) the lion I had for 
dinner.” 

“Well, let me despatch Lady Babbleton, and I’ll then 
devote myself to being your nomenclatocj’ 

We walked up to Lady Babbleton, who had already 
disposed of her daughters, and was sitting in solitary 
dignity at the end of the room. 

“ My dear Lady Babbleton,” cried Lady Harriet, taking 
both the hands of the dowager, “I am so glad to see 
you, and how well you are looking ; and your charming 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 255 

daughters, how are they ? — sweet girls ! — and how long 
have you been here ? ” 

“ We have only just come,” replied the ci-devant milliner, 
half rising, and rustling her plumes in stately agitation, 
like a nervous parrot ; “we must conform to modern ours , 
Lady Arriett , though, for my part, I like the old-fashioned 
plan of dining early, and finishing one’s gaieties before 
midnight ; but I set the fashion of good ours as well as 
I can. I think it’s a duty we owe to society, Lady Arriett, 
to encourage morality by our own example. What else do 
we have rank for ? ” And, so saying, the counter countess 
drew herself up with a most edifying air of moral dignity. 

Lady Harriet looked at me, and perceiving that my eye 
said “ go on,” as plainly as eye could possibly speak, she 
continued — “ Which of the wells do you attend, Lady 
Babbleton ? ” 

“All,” replied the patronizing dowager. “ I like to 
encourage the poor people here ; I’ve no notion of being 
proud because one has a title, Lady Arriett .” 

“No,” rejoined the worthy helpmate of Sir Lionel 
Garrett ; “ everybody talks of your condescension, Lady 
Babbleton ; but are you not afraid of letting yourself down 
by going everywhere ? ” 

“ Oh,” answered the countess, “ I admit very few into 
my set at home, but I go out promiscuously ; ” and then, 
looking at me, she said, in a whisper, to Lady Harriet, 
“ who is that nice young gentleman ? ” 

•Mr. Pelham,” replied Lady Harriet; and, turning to 
me, formally introduced us to each other. 


256 


PELHAM; OR, 

“Are you any relation (asked the dowager) to Lady 
Frances Pelham ? ” 

“Only her son,” said I. 

“ Dear me,” replied Lady Babbleton, “how odd ; what 
a nice elegant woman she is 1 She does not go much out, 
does she? I don’t often meet her.” 

“ I should not think it likely that your ladyship did meet 
her much. She does not visit promiscuously ” 

“ Every rank has its duty,” said Lady Harriet, gravely ; 
“your mother, Mr. Pelham, may confine her circle as much 
as she pleases ; but the high rank of Lady Babbleton re- 
quires greater condescension ; just as the Dukes of Sussex 
and Gloucester go to many places where you and I would 
not.” 

f 

“ Very true ! ” said the innocent dowager ; “ and that’s 
a very sensible remark ! Were you at Bath last winter, 
Mr. Pelham ? ” continued the countess, whose thoughts 
wandered from subject to subject in the most I'udderless 
manner. 

“No, Lady Babbleton, I was unfortunately at a less 
distinguished place.” 

“ What was that ? ” 

“ Paris 1 ” 

“ Oh, indeed ! I’ve never been abroad ; I don’t think per- 
sons of a certain rank should leave England ; they should 
stay at home and encourage their own manufactories.” 
“Ah 1 ” cried I, taking hold of Lady Babbleton’s shawl, 
“what a pretty Manchester pattern this is.” 

“ Manchester pattern 1 ” exclaimed the petrified peer- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 257 

ess ; “ why it is real cacheraire : you don’t think I wear 
anything English, Mr. Pelham ? ” 

“ I beg your ladyship ten thousand pardons, I am no 
judge of dress ; but to return — I am quite of your opinion, 
that we ought to encourage our own manufactories , and 
not go abroad : but one cannot stay long on the Continent, 
eren if one is decoyed there. One soon longs for home 
again.” 

“ Yery sensibly remarked,” rejoined Lady Babbleton ; 
“ that’s what I call true patriotism and morality. I wish 
all the young men of the present day were like you. Oh, 
dear ! — here’s a great favorite of mine coming this way 
— Mr. Ritson ! — do you know him? shall I introduce 
you ? ” 

“ Heaven forbid ! ” exclaimed I — frightened out of my 
wits, and my manners. “ Come, Lady Harriet, let us 
rejoin Sir Lionel ; ’^and, ‘ swift at the word,’ Lady Harriet 
retook my arm, nodded her adieu to Lady Babbleton, and 
withdrew with me to an obscurer part of the room. 

Here we gave way to our laughter for some time — “ Is 
it possible,” exclaimed I, starting up — “Can that be 
Tyrrell ? ” 

“ What’s the matter with the man ? ” cried Lady Harriet. 

I quickly recovered my presence of mind, and reseated 
myself : “ Pray forgive me, Lady Harriet,” said I ; “ but 
I think, nay, I am sure, I see a person I once met under 
very particular circumstances. Do you observe that dark 
man in deep mourning, who has just entered the room, and 
is now speaking to Sir Ralph Rumford ? ”, 

22 * R 


PELHAM; OR, 


2h8 

“ I do : it is Sir Jolm Tyrrell ! ” replied Lady Harriet : 
u he only came to Cheltenham yesterday. His is a very 
singular history.” 

“ What is it ? ” said I, eagerly. 

“ Why ! he was the only son of a younger branch of the 
Tyrrells ; a very old family, as the name denotes. He was 
a great deal in a certain roue set, for some years, and was 
celebrated for his gallantries. His fortune was, however, 
perfectly unable to satisfy his expenses ; he took to gam- 
bling, and lost the remains of his property. He went 
abroad, and used to be seen at the low gambling-houses 
at Paris, earning a very degraded and precarious subsist- 
ence ; till, about three months ago, two persons, who stood 
between him and the title and estates of the family, died, 
and most unexpectedly he succeeded to both. They say 
that he was found in the most utter penury and distress, in 
a small cellar at Paris ; however that may be, he is now Sir 
John Tyrrell, with a very large income, and, in spite of a 
certain coarseness of manner, probably acquired by the low 
company he latterly kept, he is very much liked and even 
admired, by the few good people in the society of Chel- 
tenham.” 

At this instant Tyrrell passed us ; he caught ray eye 
stopped short, and colored violently. I bowed ; he seemed 
unde'ided for a moment as to the course he should adopt ; 
it was but for a moment. He returned my salutation with 
great appearance of cordiality ; shook me warmly by the 
hand ; expressed himself delighted to meet me ; inquired 
where I was staying, and said he should certainly call upon 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


259 


me. With this promise he glided on, and was soon lost 
among the crowd. 

il Where did you meet him ? ” said Lady Harriet. 

“ At Paris. ” 

“ What ! was he in decent society there ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said I. “ Good night, Lady Harriet ; n 
and with an air of extreme lassitude, I took my hat, and 
vanished from that motley mixture of th $ fashionably low 
and the vulgarly genteel! 


CHAPTER X L I. 

Full many a lady 

I have eyed with best regard, and many a time 
The harmony of their tongues hath unto bondage 
Drawn my too diligent eyes. 

But you, oh ! you, 

So perfect and so peerless, are create 
Of every creature’s best. — Shakspeare 

Thou wilt easily conceive, my dear reader, who hast 
been in my confidence throughout the whole of this history, 
and whom, though as yet thou hast cause to esteem me 
but lightly, I already love as my familiar and my friend 
— thou wilt easily conceive my surprise at meeting so unex- 
pectedly with my old hero of the gambling-house. I felt 
indeed perfectly stunned at the shock of so singular a 
change in his circumstances since I had last met him. My 
thoughts reverted immediately to that scene, and to the 


26 C 


rELHAM; OR, 


mysterious connection between Tyrrell and Glanville. How 
would the latter receive the intelligence of his enemy’s 
good fortune ? was his vengeance yet satisfied, or through 
what means could it now find vent ? 

A thousand thoughts similar to these occupied and dis- 
tracted my attention till morning, when I summoned Bedos 
into the room to read me to sleep. He opened a play of 
Monsieur Delavigne’s, and at the beginning of the second 
scene I was in the land of dreams. 

I woke about two o’clock ; dressed, sipped my chocolate, 
and was on the point of arranging my hat to the best 
advantage, when I received the following note : — 

“ My dear Pelham, 

“ Me tibi commendo. I heard this morning, at your 
hotel, that you were here ; my heart was a house of joy at 
the intelligence. I called upon you two hours ago ; but, 
like Antony, ‘you revel long o’ nights.’ Ah, that I could 
add with Shakspeare, that you were ‘ notwithstanding up 
I have just come from Paris, that umbilicus terrce, and 
my adventures since I saw you, for your private satisfaction, 

‘ because I love you I will let you know ; ’ but you must 
satisfy me with a meeting. Till you do, * the mighty gods 
defend you ! ’ 

“ Vincent.” 

The hotel from which Vincent dated this epistle, was in 
the same street as my own caravanserai, and to this hotel 
I immediately set off. I found my friend sitting before a 
huge folio, which he in vain endeavored to persuade me 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 26 1 

that he seriously intended to read. We greeted each other 
with the greatest cordiality. 

“But how,” said Yincent, after the first warmth of 
welcome had subsided, “ how shall I congratulate you upon 
your new honors ? I was not prepared to find you grown 
from a roue into a senator. 

‘ la gathering votes you were not slack, 

Now stand as tightly by your tack, 

Ne’er show your lug an’ fidge your back, 

An’ hum an’ haw; 

But raise your arm, an’ tell your crack 

Before them a’.’ 

So saith Burns ; advice which, being interpreted, meaneth, 
that you must astonish the rats of St. Stephen’s.” 

“ Alas ! ” said I, “ all one’s clap-traps in that house 
must be baited.” 

“ Nay, but a rat bites at any cheese, from Gloucester to 
Parmesan, and you can easily scrape up a bit of some sort. 
Talking of the House, do you see, by the paper, that the 

civic senator, Alderman W , is at Cheltenham ?” 

“ I was not aware of it. I suppose he ’s cramming 
speeches and turtle for the next season.” 

“How wonderfully,” said Yincent, “your city dignities 
unloose the tongue ! directly a man has been a mayor, he 
thinks himself qualified for a Tully at least. Faith, the 
Lord Mayor asked me one day, what was the Latin for 
spouting ? and I told him, ‘ hippomanes, or a raging humo* 
in mayors .’” 

After I had paid, through . the medium of my risible 
muscles, due homage to this witticism of Yincent’s, he 


262 


PELHAM; OR, 

shut up his folio, called for his hat, and we sauntered down 
into the street. 

“When do you go up to town ?” asked Vincent. 

“ Not till ray senatorial duties require me.” 

“Do you stay here till then?” 

“As it pleases the gods. But, good heavens 1 Vincent, 
what a beautiful girl 1 ” 

Vincent turned. “ 0 Dea cert&f murmured he, and 
stopped. 

The object of our exclamations was standing by a corner 
shop, apparently waiting for some one within. Her face 
at the moment I first saw her, was turned full towards me. 
Never had I seen any countenance half so lovely. She 
was apparently about twenty ; her hair was of the richest 
chestnut, and a golden light played through its darkness, 
as if a sunbeam had been caught in those luxuriant tresses, 
and was striving in vain to escape. Her eyes were of light 
hazel, large, deep, and shaded into softness (to use a 
modern expression) by long and very dark lashes'. Her 
complexion alone would have rendered her beautiful, it 
was so clear — so pure ; the blood blushed beneath it, like 
roses under a clear stream ; if, in order to justify my simile, 
roses would have the complacency to grow in such a situa- 
tion. Her nose was of that fine and accurate mould that 
one so seldom sees, except in the Grecian statues, which 
unites the clearest and most decided outline with the most 
feminine delicacy and softness : and the short curved arch 

which descended from thence to her mouth, was so fine 

so airily and exquisitely formed, that it seemed as if Love 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 263 

himself had modelled the bridge which led to his most 
beautiful and fragrant island. On the right side of the 
mouth was one dimple, which corresponded so exactly with 
every smile and movement of those rosy lips, that you 
might have sworn the shadow of each passed there ; it was 
like the rapid changes of an April heaven reflected upon 
a valley. She was somewhat, but not much, taller than 
the ordinary height; and her figure, which united all the 
first freshness and youth of the girl with the more luxuriant 
graces of the woman, was rounded and finished so justly, 
that the eye could glance over thb whole, without discover- 
ing the least harshness or unevenness, or atom to be added 
or subtracted. But over all these was a light, a glow, a 
pervading spirit, of which it is impossible to convey the 
faintest idea. You should have seen her by the side of a 
shaded fountain on a summer’s day. You should have 
watched her amidst music and flowers, and she might have 
seemed to you like the fairy that presided over both. So 
much for poetical description — it is not my forte! 

11 What think you of her, Vincent ? ” said I. 

" I say, with Theocritus, in his epithalamium of Helen 

V 

“ Say no such thing,” said I ; “ I will not have her 
presence profaned by any helps from your memory.” 

At that moment the girl turned round abruptly, and re- 
entered the statiener’s shop, at the door of which she had 
been standing. 

“Let us enter,” said Vincent : “I want some sealing- 
11 


w&x 


I desired no second invitation : we marched into the 
shop. My Armida was leaning on the arm of an old lady. 
She blushed deeply when she saw us enter ; and, as ill-luck 
would have it, the old lady concluded her purchases the 
moment after, and they withdrew. 

“‘Who had thought this clime had held 
A deity so unparallel’d ! ’ ” 

justly observed my companion. 

I made no reply. All the remainder of that day I was 
absent and reserved ; and Vincent, perceiving that I no 
longer laughed at his j'okes, nor smiled at his quotations, 
told me I was sadly changed for the worse, and pretended 
an engagement, to rid himself of an auditor so obtuse. 


CHAPTER X L 1 1. 

Tout notre mal vient de ne pouvoir etre seuls ; de 1& le jeu, le luxe, 
la dissipation, le vin, les femmes, l’ignorance, la m^disance, I’envie, 
l’oubli de soi-meme et de Dieu. 

La Bruyere. 

The next day I resolved to call upon Tyrrell, seeing 
that he had not yet kept his promise of anticipating me, 
and being verv desirous not to lose any opportunity of 
improving my acquaintance with him ; accordingly, I sent 
my valet to make inquiries as to his abode. I found that 
he lodged in the same hotel as myself ; and having pre- 
viously ascertained that he wa.s at home, I was ushered 
by the head-waiter into the gamester’s apartment. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 265 

He was sitting by the fire in a listless, yet thoughtful 
attitude. His muscular and rather handsome person was 
indued in a dressing-gown of rich brocade, thrown on with 
a slovenly nonchalance. His stockings were about his 
heels, his hair was dishevelled, and the light, streaming 
through the half-drawn window-curtains, rested upon the 
grey flakes with which its darker luxuriance was inter- 
spersed ; and the cross light in which he had the imprudence 
or misfortune to sit, fully developed the deep wrinkles 
which years and dissipation had planted round his eyes 
and mouth. I was quite startled at the oldness and 
haggardness of his appearance. 

He rose gracefully enough when I was announced ; and 
no sooner had the waiter retired, than he came up to me, 
shook me warmly by the hand, and said, “ Let me thank 
you now for the attention you formerly showed me, when 
I was less able to express my acknowledgments. I shall 
be proud to cultivate your intimacy.” 

I answered him in the same strain, and, in the course 
of conversation, made myself so entertaining, that he agreed 
to spend the remainder of the day with me. We ordered 
our horses at three, and our dinner at seven, and I left him 
till the former were ready, in order to allow him time for 
his toilet. 

During our ride we talked principally on general sub- 
jects, on the various differences of France and England, 
on horses, on wines, on women, on politics, on all things, 
except that which had created our acquaintance. His 
remarks were those of a strong, ill-regulated mind, which 
I.— 23 


266 


PELHAM; OR, 


made experience supply the place of the reasoning facul- 
ties ; there was a looseness in his sentiments, and a licen- 
tiousness in his opinions, which startled even me (used as I 
had been to rakes of all schools') : his philosophy was of 
that species which thinks that the best maxim of wisdom is 

— to despise. Of men he spoke with the bitterness of 
hatred ; of women, with the levity of contempt. France had 
taught him its debaucheries, but not the elegance which 
refines them : if his sentiments were low, the language in 
which they were clothed was meaner still : and that which 
makes the morality of the upper classes, and which no 
criminal is supposed to be hardy enough to reject ; that 
religion which has no scoffers, that code which has no 
impugners, that honor among gentlemen, which constitutes 
the moving principle of the society in which they live, he 
seemed to imagine, even in its most fundamental laws, was 
an authority to which nothing but the inexperience of the 
young, and the credulity of the romantic, could accede. 

Upon the whole, he seemed to me a “bold, bad man,” 
with just enough of intellect to teach him to be a villain, 
without that higher degree which shows him that it is the 
worst course for his interest; and just enough of daring 
to make him indifferent to the dangers of guilt, though it 
was not sufficient to make him conquer and control them. 
For the rest, he loved trotting better than cantering — 
piqued himself upon being manly — wore doe-skin gloves 

— drank port win q, par preference, and considered beef- 
steaks and oyster-sauce as the most delicate dish in the 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 26Y 

bill of fare. I think, now, reader, you have a tolerably 
good view of his character 

After dinner, when we were discussing the second bottle, 
I thought it would not be a bad opportunity to question 
him upon his acquaintance with Glanville. His counte- 
nance fell directly I mentioned th^it name. However, he 
rallied himself. “ Oh,” said he, “you mean the soi-disant 
Warburton. I knew him some years back — he was a 
poor silly youth, half mad, I believe, and particularly 
hostile to me, owing to some foolish disagreement when 
he was quite a boy.” 

“ What was the cause ? ” said I. 

“Nothing — nothing of any consequence,” answered 
Tyrrell ; and then added, with an air of coxcombry, “ I 
believe I was more fortunate than he, in a certain intrigue 
Poor Glanville is a little romantic, you know. But enough 
of this now: shall we go to the rooms?” 

“ With pleasure,” said I ; and to the rooms we went. 


268 


PELHAM; OR. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

Yeteres revocavit artes. — Hor. 

Since I came hither I have heard strange news. — King Lear . 

Two days after my long conversation with Tyrrell, I 
called again upon that worthy. To my great surprise he 
had left Cheltenham. I then strolled to Vincent : I found 
him lolling on his sofa, surrounded, as usual, with books 
and papers. 

“ Come in, Pelham,” said he, as. I hesitated at the 
threshold — "come in. I have been delighting myself 
with Plato all the morning ; I scarcely know what it is 
that enchants us so much with the ancients. I rather 
believe, with Schlegel, that it is that air of perfect repose 
— the stillness of a deep soul, which rests over their wri- 
tings. Whatever would appear commonplace amongst 
us, has with them I know not what of sublimity and pathos. 
Triteness seems the profundity of truth — wildness, the 
daring of a luxuriant imagination. The fact is, that in 
spite of every fault, you see, through all, the traces of 
original thought; there is a contemplative grandeur in 
their sentiments, which seems to have nothing borrowed 
in its meaning or its dress. Take, for instance, this frag- 
ment of Mimnermus, or the shortness of life, — what 
subject can seem more tame ? — what less striking than the 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 269 

feelings he expresses ? — and yet, throughout every line, 
there is a melancholy depth and tenderness, which it is 
impossible to define. Of all English writers who partake 
the most of this spirit of conveying interest and strength 
to sentiments and subjects neither novel in themselves, nor 
adorned in their arrangement, I know none that equal 
Byron : it is indeed the chief beauty of that extraordinary 
poet. Examine Childe Harold accurately, and you will 
be surprised to discover how very little of real depth or 
novelty there often is in the reflections which seem most 
deep and new. You are enchained by the vague but 
powerful beauty of the style ; the strong impress of origi- 
nality which breathes throughout. Like the oracle of 
Dodona, he makes the forest his tablets, and writes his 
inspirations upon the leaves of the trees ; but the source 
of that inspiration you cannot tell ; it is neither the truth 
nor the beauty of his sayings which you admire, though 
you fancy that it is : it is the mystery which accompanies 
them.” 

“ Pray,” said I, “do you not imagine that one great 
cause of this spirit of which you speak, and which seems 
to be nothing more than a thoughtful method of express- 
ing all things, even to trifles, was the great lonelinesS^to 
which the ancient poets and philosophers were attached ? 
T think (though I have not your talent for quoting) that 
Cicero calls ‘the consideration of nature the food of the 
mind,’ and the mind which, in solitude, is confined neces- 
sarily to a few objects, meditates more closely upon those 
it embraces ; the habit of this meditation enters and per* 
23 * 


270 


PELHAM; OR, 


vades the system, and whatever afterwards emanates from 
it is tinctured with the thoughful and contemplative colors 
it has received.” 

“Wonderful!” cried Vincent : “how long have you 
learnt to read Cicero, and talk about the mind ? ” 

“Ah,” said I, “ I am perhaps less ignorant than I affect 
to be : it is now my object to be a dandy ; hereafter I 
may aspire to be an orator — a wit, a scholar, or a Vin- 
cent. You will see then that there have been many odd 
quarters of an hour in my life less unprofitably wasted 
than you imagine.” 

Vincent rose in a sort of nervous excitement, and then 
reseating himself, fixed his dark bright eyes steadfastly 
upon me for some moments ; his countenance all the while 
assuming a higher and graver expession than I had ever 
before seen it wear. 

“ Pelham,” said he, at last, “ it is for the sake of moments 
like these, when your better nature flashes out, that I have 
sought your society and your friendship. I, too, am not 
wholly what I appear : the world may yet see that Halifax 
was not the only statesman whom the pursuits of literature 
had only formed the better for the labors of business. 
Meanwhile, let me pass for the pedant, and the bookworm : 
like a sturdier adventurer than myself, ‘I bide my time.’ 
— Pelham — this will be a busy session ! shall you prepare 
for it?” 

“ Nay,” answered I, relapsing into my usual tone of 
languid affectation; “I shall have too much to do in 
attending to Stultz, and Nugee, and Tattersall and Baxter, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 271 

and a hundred other occupiers of spare time. Remember, 
this is my first season in London since my majority.' 

Vincent took up the newspaper with evident chagrin ; 
however, he was too theoretically the m£n of the world 
long to show his displeasure. “Parr — Parr — again,” 
said he; “how they stuff the journals with that name! 
Heaven knows, I venerate learning as much as any man ; 
but I respect it for its uses, and not for itself. However, 
I will not quarrel with his reputation — it is but for a day. 

Literary men, who leave nothing but their name to pos- 

/ 

terity, have but a short twilight of posthumous renown. 
Apropos , do you know my pun upon Parr and the Major.” 
“Not I,” Said I, “ Mojora canamus!” 

“ Why, Parr and I, and two or three more, were dining 
once at poor T. M ’s, the author of * The Indian An- 
tiquities.’ Major , a great traveller, entered into a 

dispute with Parr about Babylon ; the Doctor got into 
a violent passion, and poured out such a heap of quotations 
on his unfortunate antagonist, that the latter, stunned by 
the clamor, and terrified by the Greek, was obliged to 
succumb. Parr turned triumphantly to me: “What is 
your opinion, my lord,” said he ; 11 who is in the right ? ” 
“Adversis major — par secundis ,” answered I. 
“Vincent,” I said, after I had expressed sufficient ad- 
miration at his pun — “ Vincent, I begin to be weary of 
this life ; I shall accordingly pack up my books and myself, 
and go to Malvern Wells, to live quietly till I think it time 
for London. After to-day you will, therefore, see me no 


more. 


272 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ I cannot,” answered Vincent, “ contravene so laudable 
a purpose, however I may be the loser.” And, after a 
short and desultory conversation, I left him once more to 
the tranquil enjoyment of his Plato. That evening I went 
to Malvern, and there I remained in a monotonous state of 
existence, dividing my time equally between my mind and 
my body, and forming myself into that state of contempla- 
tive reflection, which was the object of Vincent's admira- 
tion in the writings of the ancients. 

Just when I was on the point of leaving my retreat, I 
received an intelligence which most materially affected my 
future prospects. My uncle, who had arrived at the sober 
age of fifty, without any apparent designs of matrimony, 
fell suddenly in love with a lady in his immediate neigh- 
borhood, and married her, after a courtship of three 
weeks. 

“ I should not,” said my poor mother, very generously, 
in a subsequent letter, “ so much have minded his marriage, 
if the lady had not thought proper to become in the family 
way ; a thing I do and always shall consider a most 

unwarrantable encroachment on your rights.” 

I will confess that, on first hearing this news, I expe- 
rienced a bitter pang : but I reasoned it away. I was 
already under great obligations to my uncle, and I felt it 
a very unjust and ungracious assumption on my part, to 
affect anger at conduct I had no right to question, or 
mortification at the loss of pretensions I had so equivocal 
a privilege to form. A man of fifty has, perhaps , a right 
to consult his own happiness, almost as much as a man 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


273 


of thirty ; and if he attracts by his choice the ridicule of 
those whom he has never obliged, it is at least from those 
persons he has obliged, that he is to look for countenance 
and defence. 

Fraught with these ideas, I wrote to my uncle a sincere 
and warm letter of congratulation. His answer was, like 
himself, kind, affectionate, and generous ; it informed mo 
that he had already made over to me the annual sum of 
one thousand pounds ; and that in case of his having a 
lineal heir, he had, moreover, settled upon me, after his 
death, two thousand a-year. He ended by assuring me 
that his only regret at marrying a lady who, in all respects 
was, above all women, calculated to make him happy, was 
his unfeigned reluctance to deprive me of a station, which 
(he was pleased to say) I not only deserved, but should 
adorn. 

Upon receiving this letter, I was sensibly affected with 
my uncle’s kindness ; and so far from repining at his choice 
I most heartily wished him every blessing it could afford 
him, even though an heir to the titles of Glenmorris were 
one of them. 

I protracted my stay at Malvern some weeks longer than 
I had intended : the circumstance which had wrought so 
great a change in my fortune, wrought no less powerinlly 
on my character. I became more thoughtfully and solidly 
ambitious. Instead of wasting my time in idle regrets at 
the station I had lost, I rather resolved to carve out for 
myself one still lofty and more universally acknowledged. 
I determined to exercise, to their utmost, the little ability 

s 


274 


peliiam; OR, 


und knowledge I possessed ; and while the increase of 
income, derived from my uncle’s generosity, furnished me 
with what was necessary for my luxury, I was resolved 
that it should not encourage me in the indulgence of my 
indolence. 

In this mood, and with these intentions, I repaired to 
the metropolis. 


CHAPTER XLIY. 

Cum pulchris tunicis sumet nova consilia et spes. — Hoe. 

And look always that they be shape, 

What garment that thou shalt make 
Of him that can best do 

With all that pertaineth thereto. — Rom. of the Rose. 

How well I can remember the feelings with which I 
entered London, and took possession of the apartments 
prepared for me at Mivart’s ! A year had made a vast 
alteration in my mind ; I had ceased to regard pleasure 
for its own sake ; I rather coveted its enjoyments, as the 
great sources of worldly distinction. I was not the less 
a coxcomb than heretofore, nor the less fastidious in my 
horses and my dress ; but I viewed these matters in a light 
wholly different from that in which I had hitherto regarded 
them. Beneath all the carelessness of my exterior, my 
mind was close, keen, and inquiring ; and under all the 


ADVENTURES CF A GENTLEMAN 


275 


affectations of foppery, and the levity of manner, I veiled 
an ambition the most extensive in its objects, and a reso* 
lution the most daring in the accomplishment of its means. 

I was still lounging over my breakfast, on the second 

moruing of my arrival, when Mr. , the tailor, was 

announced. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Pelham ; happy to see you returned 
Do I disturb you too early ? shall I wait on you again ? ” 

“ No, Mr. , I am ready to receive you. You may 

renew my measure.” 

“We are a very good figure, Mr. Pelham ; very good 
figure,” replied the Schneider, surveying me from head to 
foot, while he was preparing his measure ; “ we want a 
little assistance though ; we must be padded well here, we 
must have our chest thrown out, and have an additional 
inch across the shoulders ; we must live for effect in this 
world, Mr. Pelham ; a leetle tighter round the waist, eh ? ” 

“ Mr. ,” said I, “ you will take, first, my exact 

measure, and, secondly, my exact instructions. Have you 
done the first ? ” 

“We are done now, Mr. Pelham,” replied my man - 
maker, in a slow, solemn tone. 

“ You will have the goodness then to put no stuffing of 
any description in my coat ; you will not pinch me an iota 
tighter across the waist than is natural to that part of my 
body ; and you will please, in your infinite mercy, to leave 
me as much after the fashion in which God made me, as 
you possibly can.” 


276 


PELIIAM; 0 it , 


“But, sir, we must be padded ; we are much too thin ; 
all the gentlemen in the Life Guards are padded, sir.” 

“ Mr. ,” answered I, “you will please to speak of 

us with a separate, and not a collective pronoun ; and you 
will let me for once have my clothes such as a gentleman, 
who, I beg of you to understand, is not a Life Guardsman, 
can wear without being mistaken for a Guy Fawkes on a 
fifth of November.” 

Mr.- looked very discomfited: “We shall not be 

liked, sir, when we are made — we shan’t, I assure you. 
I will call on Saturday at eleven o’clock. Good morning, 
Mr. Pelham; we shall never be done justice to, if we do 
not live for effect ; good morning, Mr. Pelham.” 

And here, as I am weary of tailors, let me reflect a little 
upon that divine art of which they are the professors. 
Alas, for the instability of all human sciences 1 A few 
short months ago, in the first edition of this memorable 
work, I laid down rules for costume, the value of which 
Fashion begins already to destroy. The thoughts which 
I shall now embody, shall be out of the reach of that great 
innovator, and applicable not to one age, but to all. To 
the sagacious reader, who has already discovered what 
portions of this work are writ in irony — what in earnest 
— I fearlessly commit these maxims; beseeching him to 
believe, with Sterne, that “ everything is big with jest, and 
has wit in it, and instruction too, — if we can but fiud it 
out 1 ” 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 277 

MAXIMS. 

I. 

Do not require your dress so much to fit as to adorn 
you. Nature is not to be copied, but to be exalted by 
art. Apelles blamed Protogenes for being too natural. 

II. 

Never in your dress altogether desert that taste which 
is general. The world considers eccentricity in great 
things genius ; in small things, folly. 

III. 

Always remember that you dress to fascinate others, 
not yourself. 

IY. 

Keep your mind free from all violent affectations at the 
hour of the toilet. A philosophical serenity is perfectly 
necessary to success. Ilelvetius says justly, that our errors 
arise from our passions. 

Y. 

Remember that none but those whose courage is un- 
questionable, can venture to be effeminate. It was only 
in the field that the Spartans were accustomed to use 
perfumes and curl their hair. 

YI. 

Never let the finery of chains and rings seem your own 
choice ; that which naturally belongs to women should 
appear only worn for their sake. We dignify foppery, 
when we invest it with a sentiment. 


I.— 24 


* 


278 PELHAM; OR, 

VII. 

To win the affection of your mistress, appear negligent 
in your costume — to preserve it, assiduous : the first is a 
sign of the passion of love ; the second, of its respect. 

VIII. 

A man must be a profound calculator to be a consum- 
mate dresser. One must not dress the same, whether one 
goes to a minister or mistress ; an avaricious uncle, or an 
ostentatious cousin : there is no diplomacy more subtle 
than that of dress. 


IX. 

Is the great man whom you would conciliate a coxcomb ? 
— go to him in a waistcoat like his own. “ Imitation, ” 
says the author of Lacon, “is the sincerest flattery.” 

X. 

The handsome may be showy in dress, the plain should 
study to be unexceptionable ; just as in great men we look 
for something to admire — in ordinary men we ask for 
nothing to forgive. 

XI. 

There is a study of dress for the aged, as well as for the 
young. Inattention is no less indecorous in one than in 
the other ; we may distinguish the taste appropriate to 
each, by the reflection that youth is made to be loved 
age to be resoected. 


* 

ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 279 

XII. 

A fool may dress gaudily, but a fool cannot dress well 
— for to dress well requires judgment ; and Rochefoucault 
says with truth, “ On est quelque fois un sot avec de Vesprit, 
mais on ne Vest jamais avec du jugement.” 

XIII. 

There may be more pathos in the fall of a collar, or the 
curl of a lock, than the shallow think for. Should we be 
so apt as we are now to compassionate the misfortunes, 
and to forgive the insincerity of Charles I., if his pictures 
had portrayed him in a bob-wig and a pig-tail ? Vandyke 
was a greater sophist than Hume. 

XIV. 

The most graceful principle of dress is neatness — the 
most vulgar is preciseness. 

XV. 

Dress contains the two codes of morality — private and 
public. Attention is the duty we owe to others — clean- 
liness that which we owe to ourselves. 

XVI. 

Dress so that it may never be said of you “ What a 
well-dressed man!” — but, “What a gentlemanlyliko 
man ! ” 

XVII. 

Avoid many colors ; and seek, by some one prevalent 
and quiet tint, to sober down the others. Apelles used 
only four colors, and always subdued those which were 
more florid, by a darkening varnish. 


‘280 


PELHAM; OR, 

XVIII. . 

Nothing is superficial to a deep observer ! It is in 
trifles that the mind betrays itself. 11 In what part of that 
letter,” said a king to the wisest of living diplomatists, 
“ did you discover irresolution ? ” — “ Iu its ns and gs k” 
was the answer. 

XIX. 

A very benevolent man will never shock the feelings of 
others, by an excess either of inattention or display : you 
may doubt, therefore, the philanthropy both of a sloven 
and a fop. 

XX. 

There is an indifference to please in a stocking down at 
heel — but there may be malevolence in a diamond ring. 

XXI. 

Inventions in dressing should resemble Addison’s defi- 
nition of fine writing, and consist of “refinements which 
are natural, without being obvious.” 

XXII. 

He who esteems trifles for themselves, is a trifler — 
he who esteems them for the conclusions to be drawn from 
them, or the advantage to which they can be put, is a 
philosopher. 


5 

ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 281 


CHAPTER XL V. 

Tantot, Monseigneur le Marquis a cheval — 

Tan tot, Monsieur du Mozin de bout ! — L' Art de se Prominer d CTieval. 

My cabriolet was at the door, and I was preparing to 
enter, when I saw a groom managing, with difficulty, a 
remarkably fine and spirited horse. As, at that time, I 
was chiefly occupied with the desire of making as perfect 
a stud as my fortune would allow, I sent my cab boy ( vulgd 
Tiger) to inquire of the groom, whether the horse was to 
be sold, and to whom it belonged. 

“It was not to be disposed of,” was the answer, “ and 
it belonged to Sir Reginald Glanville.” 

The name thrilled through me ; I drove after the groom, 
and inquired Sir Reginald Glanville’s address. His house, 
the groom informed me, was at No. — Pall Mall. I 
resolved to call that day, but, as the groom said that he 
was rarely at home till late in the afternoon, I drove first 
to Lady Roseville’s to talk about Almack’s and the beau 
monde , and be initiated into the newest scandal and satire 
of the day. 

Lady Roseville was at home ; I found the room half 
full of women : the beautiful countess was one of the few 
persons extant who admit people of a morning. She 

.received me with marked kindness. Seeing that— , 

24 * 




282 PELHAM; OB, 

who was esteemed, among his friends, the handsomest man 
of the day, had risen from his seat, next to Lady Roseville, 
in order to make room for me, I negligently and quietly 
dropped into it, and answered his grave and angry stare 
at my presumption, with my very sweetest and most con* 
descending smile. Heaven be praised, the handsomest 
man of the day is never the chief object in the room, when 
Henry Pelham and his guardian angel, termed by his 
enemies, his self-esteem, once enter it. 

I rattled on through a variety of subject^ till Lady 
Roseville at last said laughingly, “ I see, Mr. Pelham, 
that you have learned, at least, the art of making the 
frais of the conversation since your visit to Paris.” 

“I understand you,” answered I; “you mean that I 
talk too much; it is true — I own the offence — nothing 
is so unpopular 1 Even I, the civilest, best-natured, most 
unaffected person in all Europe, am almost disliked, posi- 
tively disliked, for that sole and simple crime. Ah 1 the 
most beloved man in society is that deaf and dumb person, 
comment s’ appellc-t-il ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Lady Roseville, “ Popularity is a goddess 
best worshipped by negatives ; and the fewer claims one 
has to be admired, the more pretensions one has to be 
beloved.” 

“ Perfectly true, in general,” said I — “ for instance, 
I make the rule, and you the exception. I, a perfect 
paragon, am hated because I am one ; you, a perfect 
paragon, are idolized in spite of it. But tell me, what 
literary news is there ? I am tired of the trouble of idle* 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 283 

ness, and in order to enjoy a little dignified leisure, intend 
to set up as a savant.” * 

“ Oh, Lady C is going to write a Commentary 

on Ude ; and Madame de Genlis a Proof of the Apocrypha. 
The Duke of N e is publishing a Treatise on ‘ Tolera- 
tion ; ’ and Lord L an Essay on 1 Self-knowledge. 

As for news more remote, I hear that the Dey of Algiers 
is finishing an ‘Ode to Liberty,’ and the College of Caf- 
fraria preparing a volume of voyages to the North Pole ! ” 
“ Now,” said I, “ if I retail this information with a 
serious air, I will lay a wager that I find plenty of believers ; 
for fiction, uttered solomnly, is much more like probability 
than truth uttered doubtingly : — else how do the priests 
of Brama and Mahomet live ? ” 

“Ah ! now you grow too profound, Mr. Pelham ! ” 

“ G’est vrai — but — ” 

“Tell me,” interrupted Lady Roseville, “how it hap- 
pens that you, who talk eruditely enough upon matter 
of erudition, should talk so lightly upon matters of levity ? ” 
“ Why,” said I, rising to depart, “ very great minds 
are apt to think that all which they set any value upon, is 
of equal importance. Thus Hesiod, who, you know, was 
a capital poet, though rather an imitator of Shenstone, 
tells us that God bestowed valor on some men, and on 
others a genius for dancing. It was reserved for me, 
Lady Roseville, to unite the two perfections. Adieu ! ” 
“ Thus,” said I, when I was once more alone — “thus 
do we ‘play the fools with the time,’ until Fate brings 
that which is better than folly ; and, standing idly upon 


284 


t? 

PELHAM; OR, 

„be sea-shore, till we can catch the favoring wind which 
is to waft the vessel of our destiny to enterprise and fortune, 
amuse ourselves with the weeds and the pebbles which are 
within our reach ! ” 


CHAPTER XLYI. 

There was a youth who, as with toil and travel, 

Had grown quite weak and grey before his time; 

Nor any could the restless grief unravel 

Which burned within him, withering up his prime, 

And goading him, like fiends, from land to land. — 

P. B. Shelley. 

From Lady Roseville’s I went to Glanville’s house. He 
was at home. I was ushered into a beautiful apartment, 
hung with rich damask, and interspersed with a profusion 
of mirrors. Beyond, to the right of this room, was a small 
closet, fitted up with books. This room, evidently a 
favorite retreat, was adorned at close intervals with gir- 
andoles of silver and mother-of-pearl ; the handles of the 
doors were of the same material. 

This closet opened upon a spacious and lofty saloon, 
the walls of which were covered with the masterpieces of 
Flemish and Italian art. Through this apartment I was 
led, by the obsequious and bowing valet, into a fourth 
room, in which, negligently robed in his dressing-gown, 
rate Reginald Glanville : — “ Good Heavens,” thought I, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 285 


as I approached him, “can this be the man who made his 
residence, by choice, in a miserable hovel, exposed to all 
the damps, winds, and vapors, that the prolific generosity 
of an English Heaven ever begot ? ” 

Onr meeting was cordial in the extreme. Glanville. 
though still pale and thin, appeared in much better health 
than I had yet seen him since our boyhood. He was, or 
affected to be, in the most joyous spirits; and when his 
blue eye lighted up, in answer to the merriment of his lips, 
and his noble and glorious cast of countenance shone out, 
as if it had never been clouded by grief or passion, I 
thought as I looked at him, that I had never seen so 
perfect a specimen of masculine beauty, at once physical 
and intellectual. 

“ My dear Pelham, ” said Glanville, “let us see a great 
deal of each other : I live very much alone : I have an 
excellent cook sent me over from France by the celebrated 

gourmand Marechal de . I dine every day exactly 

at eight, and never accept an invitation to dine elsewhere 
My table is always laid for three, and you will, therefore, 
be sure of finding a dinner here every day you have no 
better engagement. What think you of my taste in 
pictures ? ” 

“I have only to say,” answered I, “that since I am so 
often to dine with you, I hope your taste in wines will be 
one-half as good.” 

“ We are all,” said Glanville, with a faint smile, “ we 
are all, in the words of the true old proverb, ‘ children of 
a larger growth . 7 Our first toy is love — our second, 


286 


PELHAM; OR, 

display, according as our ambition prompts us to exert it. 
Some place it in horses — some in honors, some in feasts, 
and some — void un exemple — in furniture or pictures. 
So true it is, Pelham, that our earliest longings are the 
purest : in love, we covet goods for the sake of the one 
beloved : in display, for our own : thus, our first stratum 
of mind produces fruit for others ; our second becomes 
niggardly, and bears only sufficient for ourselves. But 
enough of my morals — will you drive me out, if I dre<n 
quicker than you ever saw man dress before ? ” 

“ No,” said I ; “ for I make it a rule never to drive out a 
badly-dressed friend ; take time, and I will let you accom- 
pany me.” 

“ So be it, then. Do you ever read ? if so, my books 
are made to be opened, and you may toss them over while 
I am at my toilet. Look — here are two works, one of 
poetry — one on the Catholic Question — both dedicated 
to me. Seymour — my waistcoat. See what it is to 
furnish a house differently from other people ; one becomes 
a bel esprit , and a Mecaenas, immediately. Believe me, 
if you are rich enough to afford it, that there is no passport 
to fame like eccentricity. Seymour — my coat. I am at 
your service, Pelham. Believe hereafter that one may 
dress well in a short time ! ” 

45 One may do it, but not tivo — allons /” 

I observed that Glanville was dressed in the deepest 
mourning, and imagined, from that circumstance, and his 
accession to the title I heard applied to him for the first 
time, that his father was only just dead. In this opinion 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTELMAN. 287 

I was soon undeceived. He had been dead for some years. 
Glanville spoke to me of his family : — “ To my mother, 
said he, ‘‘I am particularly anxious to introduce you ; of 
my sister I say nothing ; I expect you to be surprised with 
her. I love her more than any thing on earth wow;,” and 
as Glanville said this, a paler shade passed over his face. 

We were in the Park — Lady Roseville passed us — 
we both bowed to her ; as she returned our greeting, I 
was struck with the deep and sudden blush which over- 
spread her countenance. “ That can’t be for me ? ” thought 
I. I looked towards Glanville ; his countenance had 
recovered its serenity, and was settled into its usual proud, 
but not displeasing, calmness of expression. 

“ Do you know Lady Roseville well ? ” said I. 

“ Very,” answered Glanville, laconically, and changed 
the conversation. As we were leaving the Park, through 
Cumberland Gate, we were stopped by a blockade of car- 
riages ; a voice, loud, harsh, and vulgarly accented , called 
out to Glanville by his name. I turned, and saw Thornton. 

“ For Heaven’s sake, Pelham, drive on,” cried Glanville ( * 
“let me, for once, escape that atrocious plebeian.” 

Thornton was crossing the road towards us ; I waved 
• my hand to him civilly enough (for I never cut anybody), 
and drove rapidly through the other gate, without appear- 
ing to notice his design of speaking to us. 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” said Glanville, and sank back in a 
reverie, from which I could not awaken him, till he was 
set down at his own door. 


288 


PELHAM; OR, 


When I returned to Mivart’s, I found a card from 
Lord Dawton, and a letter from my mother. 

“ My dear Henry, (began the letter,) 

“ Lord Dawton having kindly promised to call upon 
you, personally, with this note, I cannot resist the oppor- 
tunity that promise affords me, of saying how desirous I 
am that you should cultivate his acquaintance. He is, 
you know, among the most prominent leaders of the 
Opposition : and should the Whigs, by any possible chance, 
ever come into power, he would have a great chance of 
becoming prime minister. I trust, however, that you will 
not adopt that side of the question. The Whigs are a 
horrid set of people politically speaking), vote for the 
Roman Catholics, and never get into place ; they give 
very good dinners, however, and till you have decided 
upon your politics, you may as well make the most of 
them. 1 hope, by-the-by, that you will see a great deal 
of Lord Vincent : every one speaks highly of his talents ; 
and only two weeks ago, he said, publicly, that he thought 
you the most promising young man, and the most naturally 
clever person, he had ever met. I hope that you will 

be attentive to your parliamentary duties ; and, oh, • 

Henry, be sure that you see Cartwright, the dentist, as 
soon as possible. 

i: I intend hastening to London three weeks earlier than 
I had intended, in order to be useful to you. I have 
written already to dear Lady Roseville, begging her to 
introduce you at Lady C.’s, and Lady : the only 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


289 


places worth going to at present. They tell me there is a 

horrid, vulgar, ignorant book come out about . As 

you ought to be well versed in modern literature, I hope 
you will read it, and give me your opinion. Adieu, my 
dear Henry, ever your affectionate mother, 

Frances Pelham. ” 

I was still at my solitary dinner, when the following 
note was brought me from Lady Roseville : — 

“ Dear Mr. Pelham, 

“ Lady Frances wishes Lady C to be made ac- 

quainted with you ; this is her night, and I therefore 

enclose you a card. As I dine at House, I shall 

have an opportunity of making your eloge before your 
arrival. Your’s sincerely, 

“ C. Roseville.” 

I wonder, thought I, as I made my toilet, whether or 
not Lady Roseville is enamoured of her new correspon- 
dent ? I went very early, and before I retired, my vanity 
was undeceived. Lady Roseville was playing ecarte, when 
I entered. She beckoned to me to approach. I did. 
Her antagonist was Mr. Bedford, a natural son of the 
Duke of Shrewsbury, and one of the best natured and best 
looking dandies about town : there was, of course, a great 
crowd round the table. Lady Roseville played incom- 
parably ; bets were high in her favor. Suddenly her 
countenance changed — her hand trembled — her presence 
or mind forsook her. She lost the game. I looked up, 
and saw just opposite to her, but apparently quite careless 
I. — 25 t 


290 


PELHAM; OR, 


and unmoved, Reginald Glanville. We had only time to 
exchange nods, for Lady Roseville, rising from the table, 
took my arm, and walked to the other end of the room, 
in order to introduce me to my hostess. 

I spoke to her a few words, but she was absent and 
inattentive ; my penetration required no farther proof to 
convince me that she was not wholly insensible to the 

attractions of Glanville. Lady was as civil and silly 

as the generality of Lady Blanks are : and feeling very 
much bored, I soon retired to an obscurer corner of the 
room. Here Glanville joined me. 

“ It is but seldom,” said he, “ that I come to these 
places ; to-night my sister persuaded me to venture forth.” 

“ Is she here ? ” said I. 

“She is,” answered he; “she has just gone into the 
refreshment-room with my mother ; and when she returns, 
I will introduce you.” 

While Glanville was yet speaking, three middle-aged 
ladies, who had been talking together with great vehe- 
mence for the last ten minutes, approached us. 

“ Which is he ? — which is he ? ” said two of them, in 
no inaudible accents. 

“ This,” replied the third ; and coming up to Glanville, 
she addressed him, to my great astonishment, in terms of 
the most hyperbolical panegyric. 

“Your work is wonderful ! wonderful ! ” said she. 

“ Oh ! quite — quite ! ” echoed the other two. 

“I can’t say,” recommended the Coryplicea , “that I 
like the moral — at least not quite ; no, not quite ” 

“Not quite,” repeated her coadjutrices. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 291 

Glanville drew himself up with his most stately air, and 
after three profound bows, accompanied by a smile of the 
most unequivocal contempt, he turned on his heel, and 
sauntered away. 

“ Did your grace ever see such a bear ? ” said one of 
the echoes. 

“ Never,” said the Duchess, with a mortified air ; “but 
I will have him yet. How handsome he is, for an author ! ” 

1 was descending the stairs in the last state of ennui, 
when Glanville laid his hand on my shoulder. 

“ Shall I take you home ? ” said he : “ my carriage has 
just drawn up.” 

I was too glad to answer in the affirmative. 

“ How long have you been an author ? ” said I, when we 
were seated in Glanville’s carriage. 

“Not many days,” he replied “ I have tried one re- 
source after another — all — all in vain. Oh, God ! that 
for me there could exist such a blessing as fiction ! Must 
I be ever the martyr of one burning, lasting, indelible 
truth /” 

Glanville uttered these words with a peculiar wildness 
and energy of tone : he then paused abruptly for a minute, 
and continued, with an altered voice — 

“Never, my dear Pelham, be tempted by any induce- 
ment into the pleasing errors of print ; from that moment 
\ 

you are public property ; and the last monster at Exeter 
’Change has more liberty than you ; but here we are at 
Mivart’s. Adieu — I will call on you to-morrow, if my 
wretched state of health will allow me.” 

And with these words we parted. 


292 


PELHAM; OR, 


CHAPTER XLYII. 

Ambition is a lottery, where, however uneven the chances, there 
»«fe some prizes; but in dissipation, every one draws a blank. 

Letters of Stephen Montague. 

The season was not far advanced before I grew heartily 
tired of what are nicknamed its gaieties ; I shrank, by 
rapid degrees, into a very small orbit, from which I rarely 
moved. I had already established a certain reputation 
for eccentricity, fashion, and to my great astonishment, also 
for talent ; and my pride was satisfied with finding myself 
universally run after, whilst I indulged my inclinations 
by rendering myself universally scarce. I saw much of 
Vincent, whose varied acquirements and great talents 
became more and more perceptible, both as my own ac- 
quaintance with him increased, and as the political events 
with which that year was pregnant, called forth their exer- 
tion and display. I went occasionally to Lady Roseville’s, 
and was always treated rather as a long-known friend, 
than an ordinary acquaintance ; nor did I undervalue this 
distinction, for it was part of her pride to render her 
house not only as splendid, but as agreeable, as her com- 
mand over societv enabled her to effect. 

At the House of Commons my visits would have been 
duly paid, but for one trifling occurrence, upon which, as 
it is a very sore subject I shall dwell as briefly as possible 


A i VENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 293 

I had scarcely taken my seat, before I was forced to relin- 
quish it. My unsuccessful opponent, Mr. Lufton, preferred 
a petition against me, for what he called undue means. 
Heaven knows what he meant ; I am sure the House did 
not, for they turned me out, and declared Mr. Lufton duly 
elected. 

Never was there such a commotion in the Glenmorris 
family before. My uncle was seized with the gout in his 
stomach, and my mother shut herself up with Tremaine 
and one China monster for a whole week. As for me, 
though I writhed at heart, I bore the calamity philosophi- 
cally enough in external appearance ; nor did I the less 
busy myself in political matters : with what address and 
success, good or bad, I endeavored to supply the loss of 
my parliamentary influence, the reader will see, when it 
suits the plot of this history to touch upon such topics. 

Glanville I saw continually. When in tolerable spirits, 
he was an entertaining, though never a frank nor a com- 
municative companion. His conversation then was lively, 
yet without wit, and sarcastic, though without bitterness. 
It abounded also in philosophical reflections and terse 
maxims, which always brought improvement, or, at the 
worst, allowed discussion. He was a man of even vast 
powers — of deep thought — of luxuriant, though dark 
imagination, and of great miscellaneous, though, perhaps, 
ill-arranged erudition. He was fond of paradoxes in rea- 
soning, and supported them with a subtlety and strength 
of mind, which Vincent, who admired him greatly, told 
me he had never seen surpassed. He was subject, at times^ 
25 * 


H 


234 


PELHAM; OR, 


to a gloom and despondency, which seemed almost like 
aberration of intellect. At those hours he would remain 
perfectly silent, and apparently forgetful of my presence, 
and of every object around him. 

It was only then, when the play of his countenance was 
vanished, and his features were still and set, that you saw 
in their full extent, the dark and deep traces of premature 
decay. His cheek was hollow and hueless, his eye dim, 
and of that visionary and glassy aspect which is never 
seen but in great mental or bodily disease, and which 
according to the superstitions of some nations, implies a 
mysterious and unearthly communion of the soul with the 
beings of another world. From these trances he would 
sometimes start abruptly, and renew any conversation 
broken off before, as if wholly unconscious of the length 
of his reverie. At others, he would rise slowlv from his 
seat, and retire into his own apartment, from which he 
never emerged during the rest of the day. 

But the reader must bear in mind that there was nothing 
artificial or affected in his musings, of whatever complexion 
they might be ; nothing like the dramatic brown studies, 
and quick starts, which young gentlemen, in love with 
Lara and Lord Byron, are apt to practise. There never, 
indeed, was a character that possessed less cant of any 

description. His work, which was a singular, wild tale 

of mingled passim and reflection — was, perhaps, of too 
original, certainly of too abstract a nature, to suit the 
ordinary novel-readers of the day. It did not acquire 
popularity for itself, but it gained great reputation for the 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN, 295 

author. It also inspired every one who read it with a 
vague and indescribable interest to see and know the person 
who had composed so singular a work. 

This interest he was the first to laugh at, and to disap- 
point. He shrank from all admiration and from all sym- 
pathy. At the moment when a crowd assembled round 
him, and every ear was bent to catch the words, which 
came alike from so beautiful a lip, and so strange and 
imaginative a mind, it was his pleasure to utter some 
sentiment totally different from his written opinions, and 
utterly destructive of the sensation he had excited. But 
it was very rarely that he exposed himself to these “trials 
of an author.” He went out little to any other house but 
Lady Roseville’s, and it was seldom more than once a 
wmek that he was seen even there. Lonely, and singular 
in min'd and habits, he lived in the world like a person 
occupied by a separate object, and possessed of a separate 
existence from that of his fellow-beings. He was luxurious 
and splendid, beyond all men, in his habits, rather than 
his tastes. His table groaned beneath a weight of silver, 
too costly for the daily service even of a prince ; but he 
had no pleasure in surveying it. His wines and viands 
were of the most exquisite description ; but he scarcely 
tasted them. Yet, what may seem inconsistent, he was 
averse to all ostentation and show in the eyes of others. 
He admitted very few into his society — no one so inti- 
mately as myself. I never once saw more than three 
persons at his table. He seemed, in his taste for the arts, 
in his love of literature, and his pursuit after fame, to be 


296 


PELHAM; OK, 


as he himself said, eternally endeavoring to forget, and 
eternally brought back to remembrance. 

“ I pity that man even more than I admire him,” said 
Vincent to me, one night when we were walking home 
from Glanville’s house. “ His is, indeed, the disease 
nulla medicabilis herba. Whether it is the past or the 
present that afflicts him — whether it is the memory of 
past evil, or the satiety of present good, he has taken to 
his heart the bitterest philosophy of life. He does not 
reject its blesssings — he gathers them around him, but 
as a stone gathers moss — cold, 'hard unsoftened by the 
freshness and the greenness which surround it. As a 
circle can only touch a circle in one place, everything that 
life presents to him, wherever it comes from — to whatever 
portion of his soul it is applied — can find but one point 
of contact ; and that is the soreness of affliction : whether 
it is the oblivio or the otium that he requires, he finds 
equally that he is for ever in want of one treasure 
* negue gemmis neque purpura venale nec aurod ” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 291 


CHAPTER XLYIII. 

Mons. Jourdain. Etes-vous fou de Taller quereller — lui qni 
entend la tierce et la quarte, et qui sait tuer un homme par raison 
demonstrative ? 

Le Maitre d Danser. Je me moque de sa raison demonstrative, 
et de sa tierce et de sa quarte. — Moliere. 

“Hollo, my good friend; how are you? — d d 

glad to see you in England,” vociferated a loud, clear, 
good-humored voice, one cold morning, as I was shivering 
down Brook-street into Bond-street. I turned, and beheld 
Lord Dartmore, of Rocher de Cancale memory. I re- 
turned his greeting with the same cordiality with which 
it was given ; and I was forthwith saddled with Dart- 
more’s arm, and dragged up Bond-street, into that bor- 
ough of all noisy, riotous, unrefined good fellows, yclept 
’s Hotel. 

Here we were soon plunged into a small, low apart- 
ment, which Dartmore informed me was his room, and 
which was crowded with a score of the most stalwart 
youths that I ever saw out of a marching regiment. 

Dartmore was still gloriously redolent of Oxford : his 
companions were all extracts from Christ-church ; and his 
favorite occupations were boxing and hunting — scenes 
at the Eives’ Courts — nights in the Cider Cellar — and 
mornings at Bow-street. Figure to yourself a fitter 
companion for the hero and writer of these adventures ! 


298 


PELHAM ; OR, 


The table was covered with boxing-gloves, single-sticks, 
two ponderous pair of dumb-bells, a large pewter pot of 
porter, and four foils ; one snapped in the middle. 

“ Well,” cried Dartmore, to two strapping youths, with 
their coats off, “which was the conqueror?” 

.“Oh, it is not yet decided,” was the answer; and 
forthwith the bigger one hit the lesser a blow with his 
boxing-glove, heavy enough to have felled Ulysses, who, 
if I recollect aright, was rather “ a game blood ” in such 
encounters. 

This slight salute was forthwith the prelude to an en- 
counter, which the whole train crowded round to witness ; 
— I, among the rest, pretending an equal ardor, and an 
equal interest, and hiding, like many persons in a similar 
predicament, a most trembling spirit beneath a most 
valorous exterior. 

When the match (which terminated in favor ol the 
lesser champion) was over, “ Come, Pelham,” said Dart- 
more, “let me take up the gloves with you?” 

“You are too good !” said I, for the first time using 
my drawing-room drawl. A wink and a grin went round 
the room. 

“Well, then, will you fence with Staunton, or play at 
single-stick with me ? ” said the short, thick, bullying, 
impudent, vulgar Earl of Calton. 

“Why,” answered I, “lama poor hand at the foils, 
and a still worse at the sticks ; but I have no objection 
to exchange a cut or two at the latter with Lord Calton.” 

“ No, no ! ” said the good-natured Dartmore ; — " no l 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 299 


Calton is the best stick-player I ever knew ; ” and then 
whispering me, he added, “and the hardest hitter — and 
he never spares, either.” 

“Really,” said I aloud, in my most affected tone, “it 
is a great pity, for I am excessively delicate ; but as I 
said I would engage him, I don’t like to retract. Pray 
let me look at the hilt : I hope the basket is strong : I 
would not have my knuckles rapped for the world — now 
for it. I’m in a deuced fright, Dartmore ; ” and so saying, 
and inwardly chuckling at the universal pleasure depicted 
in the countenances of Calton and the by-standers, who 
were all rejoiced at the idea of the “dandy being drubbed,” 
I took the stick, and pretended great awkwardness, and 
lack of grace in the position I chose. 

Calton placed himself in the most scientific attitude, 
assuming at the same time an air of hauteur and non- 
chalance, which seemed to call for the admiration it met. 

“Do we allow hard hitting?” said I. 

“ Oh ! by all means,” answered Calton, eagerly. 

“Well,” said I, settling my own chapeau , “had not 
you better put on your hat ? ” 

“ Oh no,” answered Calton, imperiously ; “ I can take 
pretty good care of my head ; ” and with these words we 
commenced. 

I remained at first nearly upright, not availing myself 
in the least of my superiority in height, and only acting 
on the defensive. Calton played well enough for a gentle- 
man ; but he was no match for one who had, at the age 
of thirteen beat the Life Guardsmen at Angelo’s. Sud* 


300 


PELHAM; OR, 


denly, when I had excited a general laugh at the clumsy 
success with which I warded off a most rapid attack of 
Calton’s, I changed my position, and keeping Calton at 
arm’s length till I had driven him towards a corner, I 
took advantage of a haughty imprudence on his part, and, 
by a common enough move in the game, drew back from 
a stroke aimed at my limbs, and suffered the whole weight 
of my weapon to fall so heavily upon his head, that I 
felled him to the ground in an instant. 

I was sorry for the severity of the stroke the moment 
after it was inflicted ; but never was punishment more 
deserved. We picked up the discomfited hero, and placed 
him on a chair to recover his senses ; meanwhile I received 
the congratulations of the conclave with a frank alteration 
of manner which delighted them ; and I found it impos- 
sible to get away till I had promised to dine with Dart- 
more, and spend the rest of the evening in the society of 
his friends. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


30 J 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

Heroes mischievously gay, 

Lords of the street and terrors of the way, 

Flush’d as they are with folly, youth, and wine. 

Johnson’s London. 

Hoi. Novi hominem tanquam te — his humor is lofty, his dis- 
course peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait 
majestical, and his general behavior vain, ridiculous, and thra- 
sonical. — Shakspkare. 

I went a little after seven o’clock to keep my dinner 

engagement at ’s ; for very young men are seldom 

unpunctual at dinner. We sat down, six in number, to 
a repast at once incredibly bad, and ridiculously extrava- 
gant ; turtle without fat — venison without flavor — 
champagne with the taste of a gooseberry, and hock with 
the properties of a pomegranate.* Such is the constant 
habit of young men : they think anything expensive is 
necessarily good, and they purchase poison at a dearer 
rate than the most medicine-loving hypochondriac in 
England 1 

Of course, all the knot declared the dinner was superb ; 
called in the master to eulogize him in person, and made 
him, to his infinite dismay, swallow a bumper of his own 
hock. Poor man ! they mistook his reluctance for his 


I. — 2G 


* Which is not an astringent fruit. 


302 


pelham; on, 


diffidence, and forced him to wash it away in another 
potation. With many a wry face of grateful humility, he 
left the room, and we then proceeded to pass the bottle 
with the suicidal determination of defeated Romans. 
You may imagine that we were not long in arriving at 
the devoutly wished-for consummation of comfortable 
inebriety; and with our eyes reeling, our cheeks burning, 
and our brave spirits full ripe for a quarrel, we sallied out 
at eleven o’clock, vowing death, dread, and destruction to 
all the sober portion of his majesty’s subjects. 

We came to a dead halt in Arlington-street, which, as 
it was the quietest spot in the neighborhood, we deemed 
a fitting place for the arrangement of our forces. Dart- 
more, Staunton (a tall, thin, well-formed, silly youth), and 
myself, marched first, and the remaining three followed. 
We gave each other the most judicious admonitions as to 
propriety of conduct, and then, with a shout that alarmed 
the whole street, we' renewed our way. We passed on 
safely enough till we got to Charing- Cross, having only 
been thrice upbraided by the watchmen, and once threat- 
ened by two carmen of prodigious size, to whose wives 
< ■ 

or sweethearts we had, to our infinite peril, made some 
gentle overtures. When, however, we had just passed 
the Opera Colonnade, we were accosted by a bevy of 
buxom Cyprians, as merry and as drunk as ourselves. 
We halted for a few minutes in the midst of the kernel, 
to confabulate with our new friends, and a very amicable 
and intellectual conversation ensued. Dartmore was an 
adept in the art of slang, and he found himself fairly 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


303 


matched, by more than one of the fair and gentle crea 
tures by whom we were surrounded. Just, however, as 
we were all in high glee, Staunton made a trifling dis- 
covery, which turned the merriment of the whole scene 
into strife, war, and confusion. A bouncing lass, whose 
hands were as ready as her charms, had quietly helped 
herself to a watch which Staunton wore, & la mode , in 
his waistcoat-pocket. Drunken as the youth was at that 
time, and dull as he was at all others, he was not without 
the instinctive penetration with which all human bipeds 
watch over their individual goods and chattels. He 
sprang aside from the endearments of the syren, grasped 
her arm, and in a voice of querulous indignation, accused 
her of the theft. 

“ Then rose the cry of women — shrill 
As shriek of goshawk on the hill.” 

Never were my ears so stunned. The angry authors 
in the adventures of Gil Bias were nothing to the dispu- 
tants in the kennel at Charing-Cross ; we rowed, swore, 
slanged, with a Christian meekness and forbearance which 
would have rejoiced Mr. \\)ilberforce to the heartland we 
were already preparing ourselves for a more striking 
engagement, when we were most unwelcomely interrupted 
by the presence of three watchmen. 

“ Take away this — this — d d woman,” hiccuped 

out Staunton, “ she has sto — len— -(hiccup)— my watch ” 
- — (hiccup). 

“No such thing, watchman,” hallooed out the accused, 
“ the b counter-skipper never had any watch ! he 


>> 


304 


PELHAM; OR, 


only filched a twopenny-halfpenny gilt-chain out of his 
master, Levi, the pawnbroker’s window, and stuck it in 
his eel-skin to make a show : ye did, ye pitiful, lanky- 
chopped son of a dog-fish, ye did.” 

“ Come, come,” said the watchman, “ move on, move 
on.” 

“You be d d, for a Charley!” said one of our 

gang. 

“ Ho ! ho ! master jackanapes, I shall give you a cool- 
ing in the watch-house, if you tips us any of your jaw. 1 
dare say the young oman here, is quite right about ye, 
and ye never had any watch at all, at all.” 

“You are a liar ! ” cried Staunton ; “ and you are all 
in with each other, like a pack of rogues as you are.” 

“ I’ll tell you what, young gemman,” said another 
watchman,* who was a more potent, grave, and reverend 
signor than his comrades, “ if you do not move on in- 
stantly, and let those decent young omen alone, I’ll take 
you all up before Sir Richard.” 

“ Charley, my boy,” said Dartmore, “did you ever get 
thrashed for impertinence ? ” 

The last-mentioned watchman took upon himself the 
reply to this interrogatory by a very summary proceeding : 
he collared Dartmore, and his companions did the same 
kind office to us. This action was not committed with 
impunity : in an instant two of the moon’s minions, staffs, 
lanterns, and all, were measuring their length at the foot 

* The reader will remember that this work was written before 
the institution of the New Police. 


adventures of a gentleman. 305 

of their namesake of royal memory ; the remaining Dog- 
berry was, however, a tougher assailant ; he held Staunton 
so firmly in his gripe, that the poor youth could scarcely 

breathe out a faint and feeble d ye of defiance, and 

with his disengaged hand he made such an admirable use 
of his rattle, that we were surrounded in a trice. 

As when an ant-hill is invaded, from every quarter and 
crevice of the mound arise and pour out an angry host, 
of whose previous existence the unwary assailant had not 
dreamt ; so from every lane, and alley, and street, and 
crossing, came fast and far the champions of the night. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Dartmore, “ we must fly ; sauve qui. 
peutV We wanted no stronger admonition, and accord- 
ingly, all of us who were able, set off with the utmost 
velocity with which God had gifted us. I have some 
faint recollection that I myself headed the flight. I 
remember well that I dashed up the Strand, and dashed 
down a singular little shed, from which emanated the 
steam of tea, and a sharp, querulous scream of “All hot 
— all hot; a penny a pint.” I see, now, by the dim light 
of retrospection, a vision of an old woman in the kennel, 
and a pewter pot of mysterious ingredients precipitated 
into a greengrocer’s shop, “ te virides inter lauros,” aa 
Vincent would have said. On we went, faster and faster, 
as the rattle rang in our ears, and the tramp of the enemy 
echoed after us in hot pursuit. 

“ The devil take the hindmost,” said Dartmore, breath- 
lessly (as he kept up with me). 

“ The watchman has saved his majesty the trouble,” 
24* 


u 


206 


PELHAM; OR, 


answered I, looking back and seeing one of our frienda 
in the clutch of the pursuers. 

“ On, on ! ” was Dartmore’s only reply. 

At last, after innumerable perils, and various immerse- 
ments into back passages, and courts, and alleys, which, 
like the chicaneries of law r , preserved and befriended us, 
in spite of all the efforts of justice, we fairly found our- 
selves in safety in the midst of a great square 

Here we paused, and after ascertaining our individual 
safeties, we looked round to ascertain the sum-total of 
the general loss. Alas ! we were wofully shorn of our 
beams — we were reduced one-half : only three out of 
the six survived the conflict and the flight. 

“ Half,” (said the companion of Hartmore and myself, 
whose name was Tringle, and who was a dabbler in 
science, of which he was not a little vain) “ half is less 
worthy than the whole ; but the half is more worthy than 
nonentity.” 

“An axiom,” said I, “not to be disputed; but now 
that we are safe, and have time to think about it, are 
you not slightly of opinion that we behaved somewhat 
scurvily to our better half, in leaving it so quietly in the 
hands of the Philistines?” 

“ By no means,” answered Dartmore. “ In a party, 
whose members make no pretensions to sobriety, it would 
be too hard to expect that persons who are scarcely 
capable of taking care of themselves, should take care 
of other people. No ; we have in all these exploits, 
only the one maxim of self-preservation.” 


3 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 307 

"Allow me,” said Tringle, seizing me by the coat, “to 
explain it to you on scientific principles. You will find, 
in hydrostatics, that the attraction of cohesion is far less 
powerful in fluids than in solids ; viz. that persons who 
have been converting their ‘ solid flesh ’ into wine-skins, 
cannot stick so close to one another as when they are 
sober.” 

“ Bravo, Tringle ! ” cried Dartmore ; “ and now, Pelham, 
I hope your delicate scruples are, after so luminous an 
eclaircissement, set at rest for ever.” 

“You have convinced me,” said I; “let us leave the 
unfortunates to their fate, and Sir Richard. What is now 
to be done ? ” 

“ Why, in the first place,” answered Dartmore, “let us 
reconnoitre. Does any one know this spot ? ” 

“Not I,” said both of us. We inquired of an old 
fellow, who was tottering home under the same Baccha- 
nalian auspices as ourselves, and found we were in Lin- 
coln’s Inn Fields. 

“ Which shall we do ? ” asked I, “ stroll home ; or parade 
the streets, visit the Cider-Cellar, and the Finish, and kiss 
the first lass we meet in the morning bringing her charms 
and carrots to Covent Garden Market ? ” 

“The latter,” cried Dartmore and Tringle, “without 
doubt.” 

“ Come, then,” said I, “ let us investigate Holborn, and 
dip into St. Giles’s, and then find our way into some more 
known corner of the globe.” 

* Amen ! ” said Dartmore, and accordingly we renewed 


308 


PELHAM; OR, 


our march. We wound along a narrow lane, tolerably 
well known, I imagine, to the gentlemen of the quill, and 
entered Holborn. There was a beautiful still moon above 
us, which cast its light over a drowsy stand of hackney 
coaches, and shed a ‘ silver sadness ’ over the thin visages 
and sombre vestments of two guardians of the night, who 
regarded us, we thought, with a very ominous aspect of 
suspicion. 

We strolled along, leisurely enough, till we were inter- 
rupted by a miserable-looking crowd, assembled round a 
dull, dingy, melancholy shop, from which gleamed a 
solitary candle, whose long, spinster-like wick was flirting 
away with an east wind, at a most unconscionable rate. 
Upon the haggard and worn countenances of the by-stand- 
ers, was depicted one general and sympathizing expression 
of eager, envious, wistful anxiety, which predominated so 
far over the various characters of each, as to communicate 
something of a likeness to all. It was an impress of such 
a seal as you might imagine, not the arch-fiend, but one 
of his subordinate shepherds, would have set upon each 
of his flock. 

Amid this crowd, I recognized more than one face which 
I had often seen in my equestrian lounges through town, 
peering from the shoulders of some intrusive, ragamuffin, 
wages-less lackey, and squalling out of its wretched, un- 
pampered mouth, the everlasting query of “ Want your 
oss held , Sir?” The rest were made up of unfortunate 
women of the vilest and most ragged description, aged 
itinerants, with features seared with famine, bleared eyes, 


ADVENTURES OE A GEN1 LEMAN. 309 


dropping jaws, shivering limbs, and all the mortal signs 
of hopeless and aidless, and, worst of all, breadless infirmity. 
Here and there an Irish accent broke out in the oaths of 
national impatience, and was answered by the shrill, broken 
voice of some decrepit but indefatigable votaries of plea- 
sure — {pleasure!) but the chief character of the meeting 
was silence; — silence, eager, heavy, engrossing; and, 
above them all, shone out the quiet moon, so calm, so holy, 
so breathing of still happiness and unpolluted glory, as if 
it never looked upon the traces of human passion, and 
misery, and sin. We stood for some moments contempla- 
ting the group before us, and then, following the steps of 
an old, withered crone, who, with a cracked cup in her 
hand, was pushing her way through the throng, we found 
ourselves in that dreary pandaemonium, at once the origin 
and the refuge of humble vices — a Gin-sh.021. 

“Poor devils,” said Dartmore, to two or three of the 
nearest and eagerest among the crowd, “come in, and I 
will treat you.” 

The invitation was received with a promptness which 
must have been the most gratifying compliment to the 
hiviter ; and thus Want, which is the mother of Invention, 
does not object, now and then, to a bantling by Politeness. 

We stood by the counter while our proteges were served, 
in silent observation. In low vice, to me, there is always 
something too gloomy, almost too fearful for light mirth ; 
the contortions of the madman are stronger than those of 
the fool, but one does not laugh at them ; the sympathy 
is for the cause — not the effect. 


310 


PELHAM; OR, 


Leaning against the counter at one corner, and fixing 
his eyes deliberately and unmovingly upon us, was a man 
about the age of fifty, dressed in a costume of singular 
fashion, apparently pretending to an antiquity of taste, 
correspondent with that of the material. This person 
wore a large cocked-hat, set rather jauntily on one side, 
and a black coat, which seemed an omnium gatherum 
of all abominations that had come in its way for the last 
ten years, and which appeared to advance equal claims 
(from the manner it was made and worn), to the several 
dignities of the art military and civil, the arma and the 
toga : — from the neck of the wearer hung a blue ribbon 
of amazing breadth, and of a very surprising assumption 
of newness and splendor, by no means in harmony with 
the other parts of the tout ensemble ; this was the guardian 
of an eye-glass of block tin, and of dimensions correspon- 
dent with the size of the ribbon. Stuck under the right 
arm, and shaped fearfully like a sword, peeped out the 
hilt of a very large and sturdy-looking stick, “ in war a 
weapon, in peace a support.” 

The features of the man were in keeping with his garb ; 
they betokened an equal mixture of the traces of poverty, 
and the assumption of the dignities reminiscent of a better 
day. Two small light-blue eyes were shaded by bushy 
and rather imperious brows, which lowered from under 
the hat, like Cerberus out of his den. These, at present, 
wore the dull, fixed stare of habitual intoxication, though 
we were not long in discovering that they had rot yet 
forgotten to sparkle with all the quickness, and more than 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 311 


tne roguery of youth. His nose was large, prominent, 
aud aristocratic ; nor would it have been ill-formed, had 
not some unknown cause pushed it a little nearer towards 
the left ear, than would have been thought, by an equita- 
ble judge of beauty, fair to the pretensions of the right. 
The lines in the countenance were marked as if in iron, 
and had the face been perfectly composed, must have 
given to it a remarkably stern and sinister appearance ; 
but at that moment there was an arch leer about the 
mouth, which softened, or at least altered the expression 
the features habitually wore. 

“ Sir,” said he, (after a few minutes of silence,) “ Sir,” 
said he, approaching me, 11 will you do me the honor to 
take a pinch of snuff?” and so saying he tapped a curious 
copper box, with a picture of his late majesty upon it. 

“ With great pleasure,” answered I, bowing low, “since 
the act is a prelude to the pleasure of your acquaintance.” 

My gentleman of the gin-shop opened his box with an 
air, as he replied — “It is but seldom that I meet, in 
places of this description, gentlemen of the exterior of 
yourself and your friends. I am not a person very easily 
deceived by the outward man. Horace, sir, could not 
have included me, when he said, Specie decipimur. I 
perceive that you are surprised at hearing me quote Latin. 
Alas ! sir, in my wandering and various manner of life I 
may say, with Cicero and Pliny, that the study of letters 
has proved my greatest consolation. ‘ Gciudium mihi, 1 
says the latter author, ‘ et solatium in Uteris : nihil tarn 
Icetum quod his non Itdius, nihil tarn triste quod non per 


312 


PELHAM; OR, 


has sit minus triste . ’ G — d d — n ye, you scoundrel, give 
me my gin ! ar’n’t you ashamed of keeping a gentleman of 
my fashion so long waiting ? ” 

This was said to the sleepy dispenser of the spirituous 
potations, who looked up for a moment with a dull stare, 
and then replied, “Your money first, Mr. Gordon — you 
owe us seven-pence halfpenny already.” 

“Blood and confusion! speakest thou to me of half- 
pence ! Know that thou art a mercenary varlet ; yes, 
knave, mark that, a mercenary varlet,” The sleepy 
Ganymede replied not, and the wrath of Mr. Gordon sub- 
sided into a low, interrupted, internal muttering of strange 
oaths, which rolled and grumbled, and rattled in his throat, 
like distant thunder. 

At length he cheered up a little — “Sir,” said he, ad- 
dressing Dartmore, “it is a sad thing to be dependent on 
these low persons ; the wise among the ancients were never 
so wrong as when they panegyrized poverty : it is the 
the wicked man’s tempter, the good man’s perdition, the 
proud man’s curse, the melancholy man’s halter .” 

“ You are a strange old cock,” said the unsophisticated 
Dartmore, eyeing him from head to foot; “there’s half 
a sovereign for you.” 

The blunt blue eyes of Mr. Gordon sharpened up in an 
instant ; he seized the treasure with an avidity of which, 
the minute after, he seemed somewhat ashamed ; for he 
said, playing with the coin in an idle, indifferent manner 
— “Sir, you show a consideration, and, let me add, sir. a 
delicacy of feeling, unusual at your years. Sir, I snail 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 313 


repay you at my earliest leisure, and in the meanwhile 
allow me to say, that I shall be proud of the honor of 
your acquaintance. ” 

“ Thank-ye, old boy,” said Dartmore, putting on his 
glove before he accepted the offered hand of his new friend, 
which, though it was tendered with great grace and dignity, 
was of a marvellously dingy and soapless aspect. 

“ Harkye, you d — d son of a gun ! ” cried Mr. Gordon, 
abruptly turning from Dartmore, after a hearty shake of 
the hand, to the man at the counter — “ Harkye 1 give me 
change for this half-sovereign, and be d — d to you — and 
then tip us a double gill of your best; you whey-faced, 
liver-drenched, pence-griping, belly-griping, pauper-cheat- 
ing, sleepy-souled Arismanes of bad spirits. Come, gen- 
tlemen, if you have nothing better to do, I’ll take you to 
my club ; we are a rare knot of us, there — all choice 
spirits ; some of them are a little uncouth, it is true, but 
we are not all born Chesterfields. Sir, allow me to ask 
the favour of your name ? ” 

“ Dartmore.” 

“ Mr. Dartmore, you are a gentleman. Hollo! you 
Liquorpond-street of a scoundrel — having nothing of 
liquor but the name, you narrow, nasty, pitiful alley of a 
fellow, with a kennel for a body, and a sink for a soul ; 
give me my change and my gin, you scoundrel ! Humph, 
is that all right, you Procrustes of the counter, chopping 
our lawful appetites down to your rascally standard of 
seven-pence halfpenny ? Why don’t you take a motto, 
you Paynim dog? Here’s one for you — ‘Measure for 
X.— 27 


314 


PELHAM. 


measure, and the devil to pay ! 1 Humph, you pitiful 
toadstool of a trader, you have no more spirit than an 
empty water-bottle ; and when you go to h — 11, they’ll 
use you to cool the bellows. I say, you rascal, why are 
you worse off than the devil in a hip-bath of brimstone ? 
— because, you knave, the devil then would only be half 

d — d, and you’re d — d all over 1 Come, gentlemen, I 

am at your service. 99 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 315 


CHAPTER L. 


I 

The history of a philosophical vagabond, pursuing novelty, and 
losing content. — Vicar of Wakefield. 


We followed our strange friend through the crowd at 
the door, which he elbowed on either side with the most 
aristocratic disdain, perfectly regardless of their jokes at 
his dress and manner ; he no sooner got through the 
throng, than he stopped short (though in the midst of the 
kennel) and offered us his arm. This was an honor of 
which we were by no means desirous ; for, to say nothing 
of the shabbiness of Mr. Gordon’s exterior, there was a 
certain odor in his garments which was possibly less dis- 
pleasing to the wearer than to his acquaintance. Accord- 
ingly, we pretended not to notice this invitation, and 
merely said, we would follow his guidance. 

He turned up a narrow street, and after passing some 
of tne most ill-favored alleys I ever had the happiness of 


PELHAM: OR, 


I * 

O l o 

beholding, he stopped at a low door ; here he knocked 
twice, and was at last admitted by a slip-shod, yawning 
wench, with red arms and a profusion of sandy hair. This 
Hebe, Mr. Gordon greeted with a loving kiss, which the 
kissee resented in a very unequivocal strain of disgustful 
reproach. 

“Hush ! my Queen of Clubs; my Sultana Sootina!” 
said Mr. Gordon ; “ hush ! or these gentlemen will think 
you in earnest. I have brought three new customers to 
the club.” 

This speech somewhat softened the incensed Houri of 
Mr. Gordon’s Paradise, and she very civilly asked us to 
enter. 

“ Stop ! ” said Mr. Gordon with an air of importance, 
“I must just step in and ask the gentlemen to admit 
you ; — merely a form — for a word from me will be quite 
sufficient.” And so saying, he vanished for about fire 
minutes. 

On his return, he said, with a cheerful countenance, 
that we were free of the house, but that we must pay a 
shilling each as the customary fee. This sum was soon 
collected, and quietly inserted in the waistcoat-pocket of 
our chaperon, who then conducted us up the passage into 
a small, back room, where were sitting abouf seven or 
eight men, enveloped in smoke, and moistening the fever 
of the Virginian plant with various preparations of malt. 
On entering, I observed Mr. Gordon deposit, at a sort of 
bar, the sum of threepence, by which I shrewdly surmised 
he had gained the sum of two and ninepence by our 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 317 

admission. With a very arrogant air, he proceeded to 
the head of the table, sat himself down with a swagger 
and called out, like a lusty roisterer of the true kidney, 
for a pint of purl and a pipe Not to be out of fashion, 
we ordered the same articles of luxury. 

After we had all commenced a couple of puffs at our 
pipes, I looked round at our fellow-guests ; they seemed 
in a very poor state of body, as might naturally be sup- 
posed ; and, in order to ascertain how far the condition 
of the mind was suited to that of the frame, I turned 
round to Mr. Gordon, and asked him in a whisper to give 
us a few hints as to the genus and characteristics of the 
individual components of his club. Mr. Gordon declared 
himself delighted with the proposal, and we all adjourned 
to a separate table at the corner of the room, where Mr. 
Gordon, after a deep draught at the purl, thus began : — 

“You observe yon thin, meagre, cadaverous animal, 
with rather an intelligent and melancholy expression of 
countenance — his name is Chitterling Crabtree : his 
father was an eminent coal-merchant, and left him 10,- 
000£. Crabtree turned politician. When fate wishes to 
ruin a man of moderate abilities and moderate fortune, 
she makes him an ora, tor. Mr. Chitterling Crabtree 

attended *all the meetings at the Crown and Anchor — . 
subscribed to the aid of the suffering friends of freedom 
— harangued, argued, sweated, wrote — was lined and 
imprisoned — regained his liberty, and married — his wife 
loved a community of goods no less than her spouse, and 
ran off with one citizen, while he was running on to the 

27* 


18 


PELHAM; OR, 


others. Chitterling dried his tears ; and contented him- 
self with the reflection, that 1 in a proper state of things, 1 
such an event could not have occurred. 

“Mr. Crabtree’s money and life were now half gone. 
One does not subscribe to the friends of freedom and 
spout at their dinners for nothing. But the worst drop 
was yet in the cup. An undertaking of the most spirited 
and promising nature, was conceived by the chief of the 
friends, and the dearest familiar of Mr. Chitterling Crab- 
tree. Our worthy embarked his fortune in a speculation 
so certain of success ; — crash went the speculation, and 
off went the friend — Mr. Crabtree was ruined. He was 
not, however, a man to despair at trifles. What were 
bread, meat, and beer to the champion of equality ! He 
went to the meeting that very night : he said he gloried 
in his losses — they were for the cause: the whole con- 
clave rang with shouts of applause, and Mr. Chitterling 
Crabtree went to bed happier than ever. I need not 
pursue his history farther; you see him here — verbum 
sap. He spouts at the ‘ Ciceronian,’ for half a crown 
a-night, and to this day subscribes sixpence a-week to the 
cause of ‘liberty and enlightenment all over the world.’ ” 
“ By heaven ! ” cried Dartmore, “ he is a fine fellow, 
and my father shall do something for him.” 

Gordon pricked up his ears, and continued, — “Now, 
for the second person, gentlemen, whom I am about to 
describe to you. You see that middle-sized, stout man, 
with a slight squint, and a restless, lowering, cunning 
expression ? ” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 315 

“Wbatl him in the kerseymere breeches and green 
jacket ? ” said I. 

“ The same,” answered Gordon. “ His real name, when 
he does not travel with an alias, is Job Jonson. He ia 
one of the most remarkable rogues in Christendom ; he 
is so noted a cheat, that there is not a pickpocket in 
England who would keep company with him if he had 
anything to lose. He was the favorite of his father, who 
ntended to leave him all his fortune, which was tolerably 
large. He robbed him one day on the high road ; his 
father discovered it, and disinherited him. He was placed 
at a merchant’s office, and rose, step by step, to be head 
clerk, and intended son-in-law. Three nights before his 
marriage, he broke open the till, and was turned out of 
ioors the next morning. If you were going to do him 
the greatest favor ic the world, he could not keep his 
nands out of your pocket till you had done it. In short, 
je has rogued himself out of a dozen fortunes, and a 
nundred friends, and managed, with incredible dexterity 
and success, to cheat himself into beggary and a pot of 
beer.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said I, “ but I think a sketch of 
your own life must be more amusing than that of any one 
else : am I impertinent in asking for it ? ” 

“Not at all,” replied Mr. Gordon ; “you shall have it 
in as few words as possible. 

“ I was born a gentleman, and educated with some 
'lains ; they told me I was a genius, and it was not verv 
.ard to persuade me of the truth of the assertion. I 


320 


PELHAM; OR, 


wrote verses to a wonder — robbed orchards according 
to military tactics — never played at marbles without 
explaining to my competitors the theory of attraction — 
and was the best-informed, most mischievous, little rascal 
in the whole school. My family were in great doubt what 
to do with so prodigious a wonder ; one said the law, 
another the church, a third talked of diplomacy, and a 
fourth assured my mother, that if I could but be intro- 
duced at court, I should be lord chamberlain in a twelve- 
month. While my friends were deliberating, I took the 
liberty of deciding : I enlisted, in a fit of loyal valor, in 
a marching regiment ; my friends made the best of a bad 
job, and bought me an ensigncy. 

“ I recollect I read Plato the night before I went to 
battle ; the next morning they told me I ran away. I 
am sure it was a malicious invention, for if I had, I should 
have recollected it ; whereas, I was in such a confusion 
that I cannot remember a single thing that happened in 
the whole course of that day. About six months after- 
wards, I found myself out of the army, and in gaol ; and 
no sooner had my relations released me from the latter 
predicament, than I set off on my travels. At Dublin, I 
lost my heart to a rich widow (as I thought) ; I married 
her, and found her as poor as myself. Heaven knows 
what would have become of me, if I had not taken to 
drinking; my wife scorned to be outdone by me in any 
thing ; she followed my example, and at the end of a year 
I followed her to the grave. Since then I have taken 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


321 


warning, and been scrupulously sober —Betty, my love, 
another pint of purl. 

“ I was now once more a freeman in the prime of my 

life ; handsome, as you see, gentlemen, and with the 

« 

strength and spirit of a young Hercules. Accordingly 

I dried my tears, turned marker by night at a gambling 

house, and buck by day, in Bond-street (for I had returned 

to London). I remember well one morning, that his 

present Majesty was pleased, en passant , to admire my 

buckskins — tempora mutantur. Well, gentlemen, one 

night at a brawl in our salon , my nose met with a rude 

hint to move to the right. I went, in a great panic, to 

the surgeon, who mended the matter by moving it to the 

left. There, thank God ! it has rested in quiet ever since. 

It is needless to tell you the nature of the quarrel in which 

this accident occurred ; however, my friends thought it 

necessary to remove me from the situation I then held. 

I went once more to Ireland, and was introduced to 1 a 

friend of freedom.’ I was poor; that circumstance is 

quite enough to make a patriot. They sent me to Paris 

on a secret mission, and when I returned, my friends were 

in prison. Being always of a free disposition, I did not 

envy them their situation : accordingly I returned to 

England. Halting at Liverpool, with a most debilitated 

purse, I went into a silversmith’s shop to brace it, and 

about six months afterwards, I found myself on a marine 

excursion to Botany Bay. On my return from that 

country, I resolved to turn my literary talents to account. 

I went to Cambridge, wrote declamations, and translated 

V 


m 


PELHAM; OR, 


Yirgil at so much a sheet. My relations (thanks to my 

letters, neither few nor far between) soon found me out ; 

§ 

they allowed me (they do so still) half a guinea a week ; 
and upon this and my declamations I manage to exist. 
Ever since, my chief residence has been at Cambridge. 
I am an universal favorite with both graduates and under- 
graduates. I have reformed my life and my manners, and 
have become the quiet, orderly person you behold me. 
Age tames the fiercest of us — 

“ ‘ Non sum qualis eram.’ 

“ Betty, bring me my purl, and be d — d to you. 

“ It is now vacation time, and I have come to town 
with the idea of holding lectures on the state of educa- 
tion. Mr. Dartmore, your health. Gentlemen, yours. 
My story is done, — and I hope you will pay for the pu r l. ” * 


* Poor Jemmy Gordon — thou art no morel The stones of Cam- 
bridge no longer prate of thy whereabout! — Death hath removed 
thee ; — may it not be to that bourne where alone thy oaths can be 
outdone! He was indeed a singular character, that Jemmy Gor- 
don, as many a generation of Cantabs can attest! — His long stick 
and his cocked hat — and his tattered Lucretius, and his mighty 
eye-glass, how familiarly do they intermingle with our recollections 
of Trinity and of Trumpington Streets ! If I have rightly heard, 
his death was the consequence of a fractured limb. Laid by the 
leg in a lofty attic, his spirit was not tamed ; — the noises he made 
were astounding to the last. — The grim foe carried him off in a 
whirlwind of slang! I do not say '•Peace to his manes,’ for quiet 
would be the worst hell that could await him : — and heaven itself 
would be torture to Jemmy Gordon, if he were not allowed 
swear in it ! — Noisiest of reprobates, fare thee well ! — H. P. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


323 


CHAPTER LI. 

I bate a drunken rogue . — Twelfth Night. 

We took an affectionate leave of Mr. Gordon, and 
found ourselves once more in the open air ; the smoke 
and the purl had contributed greatly to the continuance 
of our inebriety, and we were as much averse to bed as 
ever. We conveyed ourselves, laughing and rioting all 
the way, to a stand of hackney-coaches. We entered 
the head of the flock, and drove to Piccadilly. It set us 
down at the corner of the Hayraarket. 

“ Past two 1 ” cried the watchman, as we sauntered by 
him. 

“You lie, you rascal,” said I, “you have passed three 
now.” 

We were all merry enough to laugh at this sally ; and 
seeing a light gleam from the entrance of the Royal 
Saloon, we knocked at the door, and it was opened unto 
us. We sat down at the only spare table in the place, 
and looked round at the smug and varmint citizens with 
whom the room was filled. 

“Hollo, waiter !” cried Tringle, “some red wine negu^ 
— I know not why it is, but the devil himself could never 
cure me of thirst. Wine and I have a most chemical 
attraction for each other. You know that we always 


324 


PELHAM; OR, 

estimate the force of attraction between bodies by the 
force required to separate them ! ” 

While we were all three as noisy and nonsensical as 
our best friends could have wished us, a new stranger 
entered, approached, looked round the room for a seat, 
and seeing none, walked leisurely up to our table, and 
accosted me with a — “ Ha ! Mr. Pelham, how d’ye do ? 
Well met ; by your leave I will sip my grog at your table. 
No offence I hope — more the merrier, eh? — Waiter, a 
glass of hot brandy and water — not too weak. D’ye 
hear ? ” 

Need I say that this pithy and pretty address proceeded 
from the mouth of Mr. Tom Thornton ? He was some- 
what more than half drunk, and his light, prying eyes 

% 

twinkled dizzily in his head. Dartmore, who was, and 
is, the best-natured fellow alive, hailed the signs of his 
intoxication as a sort of freemasonry, and made way for 
him beside himself. I could not help remarking, that 
Thornton seemed singularly less sleek than heretofore : 
his coat was out at the elbows, his linen was torn and 
soiled ; there was not a vestige of the vulgar spruceness 
about him which was formerly one of his most prominent 
characteristics. He had also lost a great deal of the 
florid health formerly visible in his face ; his cheeks seemed 
sunk and haggard, his eyes hollow, and his complexion 
sallow and squalid, in spite of the flush which intemper- 
ance spread over it at the moment. However, he was in 
high spirits, and soon made himself so entertaining that 
Dartmore and Tringle grew charmed with him. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


325 


As for me, the antipathy I had to the man sobered and 
silenced me for the rest of the night ; and finding that 
Dartmore and his friend were eager for an introduction 
to some female friends of Thornton’s, whom he mentioned 
in terms of high praise, I tore myself from them, and 
made the best of my way home. 


CHAPTER L 1 1. 

Illi mors gravis incubat 
Qui, notus nimis omnibus, 

Ignotus moritur sibi. — Seneca. 

Nous serons par nos lois les juges des ouvrages. 

Les Femmes Savantes 

Whilst we do speak, our fire 
Doth into ice expire ; 

Flames turn to frost, 

And, ere we can 

Know how our crow turns swan, 

Or how a silver snow 
Springs there, where jet did grow, 

Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. 

Jaspak Mayne. 

T incent called on me the next day. “ I have news 
for you,” said he, “ though somewhat of a lugubrious 
nature. Lugete Veneres Cupidinesque ! You remember 
the Duchesse de Perpignan ? ” 

“ I should think so,” was my answer. 

11 Well, then,” pursued Vincent, “she is no more. Her 
I. — 28 


PELHAM; OR, 


im 

death was worthy of her life. She was to give a biilliant 
entertainment to all the foreigners at Paris : the day 
before it took place, a dreadful eruption broke out on her 
complexion. She sent for the doctors in despair. ‘ Cure 
me against to-morrow,’ she said, ‘and name your own 
reward.’ ‘Madame, it is impossible to do so with safety 
to your health.’ l Au diable with your health !” said the 
Duchesse ; ‘ what is health to an eruption ? ’ The doctors 
took the hint; an external application was used — the 
Duchesse woke in the morning as beautiful as ever — the 
entertainment took place — she was the Armida of the 
scene. Supper was announced. She took the arm of the 

ambassador, and moved through the crowd amidst 

the audible admiration of all. She stopped for a moment 
at the door ; all eyes were upon her. A fearful and 
ghastly convulsion passed over her countenance, her lips 
trembled, she fell on the floor with the most terrible 
contortions of face and frame. They carried her to bed. 
She remained for some days insensible ; when she recov- 
ered, she asked for a looking-glass. Her whole face was 
drawn on one side ; not a wreck of beauty was left ; — 
that night she poisoned herself!” 

I cannot express how shocked I was at this information. 
Much as I had cause to be disgusted with the conduct of 
that unhappy woman, I could find in my mind no feeling 
but commiseration and horror at her death ; and it was 
with great difficulty that Vincent persuaded me to accept 
an invitation to Lady Roseville’s for the evening, to meet 
Glanville and himself. 


ADVENTURES OE A GENTLEMAN. 


327 


However, I cheered up as the night came on ; ana 
though my mind was still haunted with the tale of the 
morning, it was neither in a musing nor a melancholy 
mood that I entered the drawing-room at Lady Rose- 
ville’s — “ So runs the world away 1 ” 

Glanville was there in his customary mourning. 

“ Pelham,” he said, when he joined me, “ do you remem- 
ber at Lady ’s one night, I said I would introduce 

you to my sister ? I had no opportunity then, for we left 
the house before she returned from the refreshment-room. 
May I do so now?’’ 

I need not say what was my answer. I followed Glan- 
ville into the next room ; and, to my inexpressible aston- 
ishment and delight, discovered in his sister the beautiful, 
the never forgotten stranger I had seen at Cheltenham. 

For once in my life I was embarrassed — my bow would 
have shamed a major in the line, and my stuttered and 
irrelevant address, an alderman in the presence of His 
Majesty. However, a few moments sufficed to recover me, 
and I strained every nerve to be as agreeable as possible. 

After I had conversed with Miss Glanville for some 
time, Lady Roseville joined us.. Stately and Juno-like, 
as was that charming personage in general, she relaxed 
into a softness of manner to Miss Glanville, that quite 
won my heart. She drew her to a part of the room, 
where a very animated and chiefly literary conversation 
was going on — and I, resolving to make the best of my 
time, followed them, and once more found myself seated 
beside Miss Glanville. Lady Roseville was on the other 


328 


PELHAM; OR, 


side of my beautiful companion ; and I observed that, 
whenever she took her eyes from Miss Glanville, they 
always rested upon her brother, who, in the midst of the 
disputation and the disputants, sat silent, gloomy, and 
absorbed. 

The conversation turned upon Scott’s novels ; thence 
on novels in general ; and finally on the particular one of 
Anastasius. 

“ It is a thousand pities,” said Vincent, “ that the scene 
of that novel is so far removed from us. But it is a great 
misfortune for Hope that — 

‘ To learning be narrowed his mind, 

And gave up to the East what was meant for mankind.’ 

One often loses, in admiration at the knowledge of pecu 
liar costume, the deference one would have paid to the 
masterly grasp of universal character.” 

“It must require,” said Lady Roseville, “an extraor- 
dinary combination of mental powers to produce a perfect 
novel.” 

“ One so extraordinary,” answered Vincent, “ that, 
though we have one perfect epic poem, and several which 
pretend to perfection, we have not one perfect novel in 
the world.* Gil Bias approaches more to perfection than 
any other ; but it must be confessed that there is a want 
of dignity, of moral rectitude, and of what I may term 
moral beauty, throughout the whole book. If an author 
could combine the various excellencies of Scott and Le 

* For Don Quixote is not what Lord Vincent terms a novel, viz. t 
the actual representation of real life. 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 329 

Sage, with a greater and more metaphysical knowledge 
of morals than either, we might expect from him the 
perfection we have not yet discovered since the days of 
Apuleius.” 

“Speaking of morals,” said Lady Roseville, “do you 
not think every novel should have its distinct object, and 
inculcate, throughout, some one peculiar moral, such as 
many of Marmontel’s and Miss Edgeworth’s ? ” 

“ No ! ” answered Vincent ; “ every good novel has one 
great end — the same in all — viz. the increasing our 
knowledge of the heart. It is thus that a novel-writer 
must be a philosopher. Whoever succeeds in showing 
us more accurately the nature of ourselves and species, 
has done science, and, consequently, virtue, the most im- 
portant benefit; for every tr>/' 7 > is a moral. This great 
and universal end, I am led to imagine, is rather crippled 
than extended by the rigorous attention to the one isolated 
moral you mention. 

“ Thus Dryden, in his Essay on the Progress of Satire, 
very rightly prefers Horace to Juvenal, so far as instruc- 
tion is concerned ; because the miscellaneous satires of 
the former are directed against every vice — the more 
confined ones of the latter (for the most part) only against 
one. All mankind is the field the novelist should culti- 
vate — all truth, the moral he should strive to bring home. 
It is in occasional dialogue, in desultory maxims, in deduc- 
tions from events, in analysis of character, that he should 
benefit and instruct. It is not enough — and I wish a 
certain novelist who has lately arisen would remember 
28 * 


330 


PELHAM; OR, 


this — it is not enough for a writer to have a good heart, 
amiable sympathies, and what are termed high feelings, 
in order to shape out a moral, either true in itself, or 
beneficial in its inculcation. Before he touches his tale, 
he should be thoroughly acquainted with the intricate 
science of morals, and the metaphysical, as well as the 
more open, operations of the mind. If his knowledge is 
not deep and clear, his love of the good may only lead 
him into error ; and he may pass off the prejudices of a 
susceptible heart for the precepts of virtue. Would to 
Heaven that people would think it necessary to be in* 
structed before they attempt to instruct ! ‘ Dire simple - 

merit que la vertu est vertu parce qu'elle est bonne en 
son fonds, et le vice tout au contraire, ce n'est pas les 
faire connoitred For me, if I were to write a novel, I 
would first make myself an acute, active, and vigilant 
observer of men and manners. Secondly, I would, after 
having thus noted effects by action in the world, trace the 
causes by books, and meditation in my closet. It is then, 
and not till then, that I would study the lighter graces of 
style and decoration ; nor would I give the rein to inven- 
tion, till I was convinced that it would create neither 
monsters of men, nor falsities of truth. For my vehicles 
of instruction or amusement, I would have people as they 
are — neither worse nor better — and the moral they 
should convey, should be rather through jest or irony, 
than gravity and seriousness. There never was an imper- 
fection corrected by portraying perfection ; and if levity 
and ridicule be said so easily to allure to sin, 1 do not see 


iDYENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 331 


W SJ they should not be used in defence of virtue. Of 
ttrs we may be sure, that as laughter is a distinct indica- 
tion of the human race, so there never was a brute mind 
or a ravage heart that loved to indulge in it.” * 

Vincent ceased. 

11 Thank you, my lord,” said Lady Roseville, as she 
took Miss Glanville’s arm and moved from the table. 
“For once you have condescended to give us your own 
sense, and not other people’s ; you have scarce made a 
single quotation.” 

“Accept,” answered Vincent rising, 

“ ‘Accept a miracle instead of wit.’ * 


* The Sage of Malmesbury expresses a very different opinion of 
the philosophy of laughter, and, for my part, I think his doctrine, 
in great measure, though not altogether — true. See llobbes on 
Human Nature , and tha answer to him in Campbell's Rhetoric.— 

Author. 


♦ 


332 


PELHAM; OB. 


CHAPTER L 1 1 1. 

Oh ! I love ! — Methinks 
This word of love is fit for all the world, 

And that, for gentle hearts, another name 

Should speak of gentler thoughts than the world owns. 

B. Shellet. 

For me, I ask no more than honor gives, 

To think me yours, and rank me with your friends. 

Shakspeare. 

Callous and worldly as I may seem, from the tone of 
these memoirs, I can say, safely, that one of the most 
delicious evenings I ever spent, was the first of my intro- 
duction to Miss Glanville. I went home intoxicated with 
a subtle spirit of enjoyment that gave a new zest and 
freshness to life. Two little hours seemed to have changed 
the whole course of my thoughts and feelings. 

There was nothing about Miss Glanville like a heroine 
— I hate your heroines. She had none of that “ modest 
ease,” and 11 quiet dignity,” of which certain writers speak 
with such applause. Thank Heaven, she was alive! She 
had great sense, but the playfulness of a child ; extreme 
rectitude of mind, but with the tenderness of a gazelle : 
if she laughed, all her countenance, lips, eyes, forehead, 
cheeks, laughed too : “ Paradise seemed opened in her 
face : ” if she looked grave, it was such a lofty and up - 
ward, yet sweet and gentle gravity, that you might (had 


AD VENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


33J 


you been gifted with the least imagination) have supposed, 
from the model of her countenance, a new order of angels 
between the cherubim and the seraphim, the angels of 
Love and Wisdom. She was not, perhaps, quite so silent 
in society as my individual taste would desire ; but when 
she spoke, it was with a propriety of thought and diction 
which made me lament when her voice had ceased. It 
was as if something beautiful in creation had stopped 
suddenly. 

Enough of this now. I was lazily turning (the morn- 
ing after Lady Roseville’s) over some old books, when 
Vincent entered. I observed that his face was flushed, 
and his eyes sparkled with more than their usual brilliancy. 
He looked carefully round the room, and then, approach- 
ing his chair towards mine, said, in a low tone — 

“ Pelham, I have something of importance on my mind 
which I wish to discuss with you ; but let me intreat you 
to lay aside your usual levity, and pardon me if I say 
affectation ; meet me with the candor and plainness which 
are the real distinctions of your character.” 

“My Lord Vincent,” I replied; “there are, in your 
words, a depth and solemnity which pierce me, through 

one of N ’s best stuffed coats, even to the very heart 

I will hear you as you desire, from the alpha to the omega 
of your discourse.” 

“ My dear friend,” said Vincent, “I have often seen 
that, in spite of all your love of pleasure, you have your 
mind continually turned towards higher and graver ob- 
jects , and I have thought the better of your talents, and 


334 


PELHAM; OR, 


of your future success, for the little parade you make of 
the one, and the little care you appear to pay to the 
other : for 

* ’tis a common proof, 

That lowliness is young Ambition’s ladder.’ 

% 

I have also observed that you have, of late, been much 
to Lord Hawton’s ; I have even heard that you have been 
twice closeted with him. It is well known that that person 
entertains hopes of leading the opposition to the grata 
arva of the Treasury benches ; and notwithstanding the 
years in which the Whigs have been out of office, there 
are some persons who pretend to foresee the chance of a 
coalition between them and Mr. Gaskell, to whose prin- 
ciples it is also added that they have been gradually 
assimilating.” 

Here Vincent paused a moment, and looked full at me. 
I met his eye with a glance as searching as his own. His 
look changed, and he continued. 

“Now listen to me, Pelham: such a coalition never 
can take place. You smile : I repeat it. It is my object 
to form a third party ; perhaps, while the two great sects 
‘ anticipate the cabinet designs of fate,’ there may sud- 
denly come by a third, 1 to whom the whole shall be re- 
ferred.’ Say that you think it not impossible that you 
may join us, and I will tell you more.” 

I paused for three minutes before I answered Vincent. 
I then said — “ I thank you very sincerely for your pro- 
posal : tell me the names of two of your designed party, 
and I will answei you.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


335 


“ Lord Lincoln and Lord Lesborougb.” 

“ What ! ” said I — “ the Whig, who says in the Upper 
House, that whatever may be the distresses of the people, 
they shall not be gratified at the cost of one of the des- 
potic privileges of the aristocracy. Go to ! — I will have 
none of him. As to Lesborough, he is a fool and a 
boaster — who is always puffing his own vanity with the 
windiest pair of oratorical bellows that ever were made 
by air and brass, for the purpose of sound and smoke, 
‘signifying nothing.’ Go to ! — I will have none of him 
either.” 

“You are right in your judgment of my confreres ,” 
answered Vincent ; “ but we must make use of bad tools 
for good purposes.” 

“No — no!” said I; “the commonest carpenter will 
tell you the reverse.” 

Vincent eyed me suspiciously. “ Look you ! ” said he : 
“ I know well that no man loves, better than you, place, 
power, and reputation. Do you grant this ? ” 

“I do,” was my reply. 

“Join with us ; I will place you in the House of Com- 
mons immediately : if we succeed, you shall have the first 
and the best post I can give you. Now — ‘ under which 
king, Bezonian, speak or die ! ’ ” 

“I answer you in the words of the same worthy you 
quote,” said I — “‘A foutra for thine office.’ — Do you 
know, Vincent, that I have, strange as it may seem to you, 
such a thing as a conscience ? It is true I forget it now 
and then ; but in a public capacity, the recollection of 


336 


P E L HA M ; OR, 


others would put me very soon in mind of it. I know 
your party well. I cannot imagine — forgive me — ono 
more injurious to the country, nor one more revolting to 
myself ; and I do positively affirm, that I would sooner 
feed my poodle on paunch and liver, instead of cream and 
fricassee, than to be an instrument in the hands of men 
like Lincoln and Lesborough ; who talk much, who per- 
form nothing — who join ignorance of every principle of 
legislation to indifference for every benefit to the people : 
—who are full of ‘ wise saws,’ but empty of * modern 
instances’ — who level upwards, and trample downwards 
— - and would only value the ability you are pleased to 
impute to me, in the exact proportion that a sportsman 
values the ferret, that burrows for his pleasure, and de- 
stroys for his interest. Your party can’t stand 1 ” 

Vincent turned pale — “And how long,” said he, “ have 
you learnt ‘the principles of legislation,’ and this mighty 
affection for the ‘ benefit of the people ? ’ ” 

“ Ever since,” said I, coldly, “ I learnt any thing 1 The 
first piece of real knowledge I ever gained was, that my 
interest was incorporated with that of the beings with 
whom I had the chance of being cast : if I injure them, I 
injure myself: if I can do them any good, I receive the 
benefit in common with the rest. Now, as I have a great 
love for that personage who has now the honor of address- 
ing you, I resolved to be honest for his sake. So much 
for my affection for the benefit of the people. As to the 
little knowledge of the principles of legislation, on which 
you are kind enough to compliment me, look over the 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


331 


books on this table, or the writings in this desk, and know, 
that ever since I had the misfortune of parting from you 
at Cheltenham, there has not been a day in which I have 
spent less than six hours reading and writing on that sole 
feTibject. But enough of this — will you ride to-day ? ” 

Vincent rose slowly — 

“‘Gli arditi (said he) tuoi voti 
Gia noti mi sono; 

Ma invano a quel trono, 

Tu aspiri con me: 

Trema per te ! ’ ” 

lii Io trema ’ (I replied out of the same opera) — ‘ Io 
trema — di te!”’ 

“Well,” answered Vincent, and his fine high nature 
overcame his momentary resentment and chagrin at my 
rejection of his offer — “Well, I honor you for your sen- 
timents, though they are opposed to my own. I may 
depend on your secrecy ? ” 

“You may,” said I. 

“I forgive you, Pelham,” rejoined Vincent: “we part 
friends.” 

“Wait one moment,” said I, “and pardon me, if I 
venture to speak in the language of caution to one in 
every way so superior to myself. No one (I say this with 
a safe conscience, for I never flattered my friend in my life, 
though I have often adulated my enemy) — no one has a 
greater admiration for your talents than myself; I desire 
eagerly to see you in the station most fit for their display : 
pause one moment before you link yourself, not only to a 
I. — 29 W 


S38 


PELHAM; OR, 


party, but to principles that cannot stand. You have 
only to exert yourself, and you may either lead the oppo- 
sition, or be among the foremost in the administration. 
Take something certain, rather than what is doubtful ; or 
at least stand alone : — such is my belief in your powers, 
if fairly tried, that if you were not united to those men, 
I would promise you faithfully to stand or fall by you 
alone, even if we had not through all England another 

soldier to our standard ; but ” 

“ I thank you, Pelham,” said Yincent, interrupting me : 
“■till we meet in public as enemies, we are friends in private 
— I desire no more. Farewell.’’ 


CHAPTER LIY. 

II vaut mieux employer notre esprit a supporter les infortunes 
qui nous arrivent, qu’a pnSvoir celles qui nous peuvent arriver. 

Rochefoucault. 

No sooner had Yincent departed than I buttoned my 
coat, and sallied out through a cold easterly wind to Lord 
Pawton’s. It was truly said by the political quoter, that 
I had been often to that nobleman’s, although I have not 
thought it advisable to speak of my political adventures 
hitherto. I have before said that I was ambitious ; and 
tine sagacious have probably already discovered, that I 
was somewhat less ignorant than it was my usual pride 


ADVENTURES OF A OENTELMAN. 339 

and pleasure to appear. I had established, among my 
uncle’s friends, a reputation for talent ; and no sooner had 
I been personally introduced to Lord Dawton, than I 
found myself courted by that personage in a manner 
equally gratifying and uncommon. When I lost my seat 
in Parliament, Dawton assured me that, before the session 
was over, I should be returned for one of his boroughs ; 
and though my mind revolted at the idea of becoming 
dependent on any party, I made little scruple of promising 
conditionally to ally myself to his. So far had affairs 
gone, when I was honored with Vincent’s proposal. I 
found Lord Dawton in his library, with the Marquis of 
Clandonald (Lord Dartmore’s father, and, from his rank 
and property, classed among the highest, as, from his 
vanity and restlessness, he was among the most active, 
members of the Opposition). Olandonald left the room 
when I entered. Few men in office are wise enough to 
trust the young ; as if the greater zeal and sincerity of 
youth did not more than compensate for its appetite for 
the gay, or its thoughtlessness of the serious. 

When we were alone, Dawton said to me, “ We are in 

great despair at the motion upon the , to be made 

in the Lower House. We have not a single person whom 
we can depend upon, for the sweeping and convincing 
answer we ought to make ; and though we should at least 

muster our full force in voting, our whipper-in, poor , 

is so ill that I fear we shall make but a very pitiful figure.” 

“ Give me,” said I, “full permission to go forth into the 
high-ways and by-ways, and I will engage to bring a 


840 


PELHAM; OR, 


whole legion of dandies to the House door. I can go no 
farther; your other agents must do the nest.” 

“ Thank you, my dear young friend,” said Lord Dawton, 
eagerly; “thank you a thousand times : we must really 
get you in the House as soon as possible ; you will serve 
us more than I can express.” 

I bowed, with a sneer I could not repress. Dawton 
pretended not to observe it. “ Come,” said I, “ my lord, 
we have no time to lose. I shall meet you,, perhaps, at 
Brookes’s, to-morrow evening, and report to you respect- 
ing my success.” 

Lord Dawton pressed my hand warmly, and followed 
me to the door. 

“He is the best premier we could have,” thought I ; 
“but he deceives himself, if he thinks Henry Pelham will 
play the jackall to his lion. He will soon see that I shall 
keep for myself what he thinks I hunt for him.” I passed 
through Pall Mall, and thought of Glanville. I knocked 
at his door : he was at home. I found him leaning his 
cheek upon his hand, in a thoughtful position ; an open 
letter was before him. 

“ Read that,” he said, pointing to it. 

I did so. It was from the agent to the Duke of , 

and contained his nomination to an opposition borough. 

“A new toy, Pelham,” said he, faintly smiling; “but a 
little longer, and they will all be broken — the rattle will 
be the last.” 

“ My dear, dear Glanville,” said I, much affected, “ do 
not talk thus ; you have everything before you.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 3il 


“ Yes,” interrupted Glanville, “ you are right, for everj 
thing left for me is in the grave. Do you imagine that I 
can taste one of the possessions which fortune has heaped 
upon me ; that I have one healthful faculty, one sense of 
enjoyment, among the hundred which other men are ' heirs 
to ? ’ When did you ever see me for a moment happy ? 
I live, as it were, on a rock, barren, and herbless, and 
sapless, and cut off from all human fellowship and inter- 
course. I had only a single object left to live for, when 
you saw me at Paris ; I have gratified that, and the end 
and purpose of my existence is fulfilled. Heaven is mer- 
ciful ; but a little while, and this feverish and unquiet 
spirit shall be at rest.” 

I took his hand and pressed it. 

* 

“ Feel,” said he, “ this dry, burning skin ; count my 
pulse through the variations of a single minute, and you 
will cease either to pity me, or to speak to me of life. 
For months I have had, night and day, a wasting — 
wasting fever, of brain and heart, and frame; the fire 
works well, and the fuel is nearly consumed.” 

He paused, and we were both silent. In fact, I was 
shocked at the fever of his pulse, no less than affected at 
the despondency of his words. At last I spoke to him of 
medical advice. 

“ ‘ Canst thou,’ ” he said, with a deep solemnity of voice 
and manner, “‘administer to a mind diseased — pluck 
from the memory’ * * * * Ah ! away with the quotation 
and the reflection.” And he sprang from the sofa, and, 
going to the window, opeued it, and leaned out foi a few 
29 * 


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t' ■ j f ^ "l & i <■ 


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242 


PELHAM; OR, 


moments in silence. When he turned again towards me, 
his manner had regained its usual quiet. He spoke about 

the important motion approaching on the , and 

promised to attend ; and then, by degrees, I led him to 

s 

talk of his sister. 

He mentioned her with enthusiasm. “ Beautiful as Ellen 
is,” he said, “ her face is the very faintest reflection of her 
mind. Her habits of thought are so pure, that every 
impulse is a virtue. Never was there a person to whom 
goodness was so easy. Tice seems something so opposite 
to her nature, that I cannot imagine it possible for her 
to sin.” 

“ Will you not call with me at your mother’s ? ” said 
I. “I am going there to-day.” 

Glanville replied in the affirmative, and we went at once 
to Lady Glanville’s in Berkeley-square. We were admit- 
ted into his mother’s boudoir. She was alone with Miss 
Glanville. Our conversation soon turned from common- 
place topics to those of a graver nature ; the deep melan- 
choly of Glanville’s mind imbued all his thoughts, when 
he suffered himself to express them. 

“ Why,” said Lady Glanville, who seemed painfully 
fond of her son, “ why do you not go more into the world ? 
You suffer your mind to prey upon itself, till it destroys 
you. My dear, dear son, how very ill you seem 1 ” 

Ellen, whose eyes swam in tears, as they gazed upon 
her brother, laid her beautiful hand upon his, and said, 
“ For my mother’s sake, Reginald, do take moie care of 
vourself : vou want air, and exercise, and amusement.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 343 

“No,” answered Glanville, “ I want nothing but occu- 
pation ; and, thanks to the Duke of , I have now 

got it. I am chosen member for .” 

“I am too happy,” said the proud mother; “you will 
now be all I have ever predicted for you ; ” and, in her 
joy at the moment, she forgot the hectic of his cheek, and 
the hollowness of his eye. 

“ Do you remember,” said Reginald, turning to hia 
sister, “those beautiful lines in my favorite Ford — 

‘ Glories 

Of human greatness are but pleasing dreams, 

And shadows soon decaying. On the stage 
Of my mortality, my youth has acted 
Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length 
By varied pleasures — sweetened in the mixture, 

But tragical in issue. Beauty, pomp, 

With every sensuality our giddiness 
Doth frame an idol — are inconstant friends 
When any troubled passion makes us halt 
On the unguarded castle of the mind.’ ” 

“Your verses,” said I, “are beautiful, even to me, who 
have no soul for poetry, and never wrote a line in my life. 
But I love not their philosophy. In all sentiments that 
are impregnated with melancholy, and instil sadness as a 
moral, I question the wisdom, and dispute the truth. 
There is no situation in life which we cannot sweeten, or 
embitter, at will. If the past is gloomy, I do not see the 
necessity of dwelling upon it. If the mind can make one 
vigorous exertion, it can another : the same energy you 
put forth in acquiring knowledge, would also enable you 
to baffle misfortune. Determine not to think upon what 


341 


PELHAM ; OR, 


is painfui : resolutely turn away from every thing that 
recalls it; bend all your attention to some new and en- 
grossing object; do this, and you defeat the past. You 
smile, as if this were impossible ; yet it is not an iota more 
so, than to tear one’s self from a favorite pursuit, and 
addict one’s self to an object unwelcome to one at first. 
This the mind does continually through life : so can it also 
do the other, if you will but make an equal exertion. Nor 
does it seem to me natural to the human heart to look 
much to the past; all its plans, its projects, its aspirations, 
are for the future ; it is for the future, and in the future, 
that we live. Our very passions, when most agitated, are 
most anticipative. Revenge, avarice, ambition, love, the 
desire of good and evil, are all fixed and pointed to some 
distant goal ; to look backwards, is like walking backwards 
— against our proper formation : the mind does not readily 
adopt the habit, and when once adopted, it will readily 
return to its natural bias. Oblivion is, therefore, a more 
easily obtained boon than we imagine. Forgetfulness of 
the past is purchased by increasing our anxiety for the 
future.” 

I paused for a moment, but Glanville did not answer me ; 
and, encouraged by a look from Ellen, I continued — “ You 
remember that, according to an old creed, if we were 
given memory as a cun.e, we were also given hope as a 
blessing. Counteract the one by the other. In my own 
life, I have committed many weak, perhaps many wicked 
actions ; I have chased away their remembrance, though 
i have transplanted their warning to the future. As the 
body involuntarily avoids what is hurtful to it, without 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. o45 

tracing the association to its first experience, so the mind 
insensibly shuns what has formerly afflicted it, even without 
palpably recalling the remembrance of the affliction. 

“ The Roman philosopher placed the secret of human 
happiness in the one maxim — ‘not to admire.’ I never 
could exactly comprehend the sense of the moral : ray 
maxim for the same object would be — ‘never to regret.’” 
“Alas ! my dear friend,” said Glanville — “ we are great 
philosophers to each other, but not to ourselves ; the 
moment we begin to feel sorrow, we cease to reflect on 
its wisdom. Time is the only comforter; your maxims 
are very true, but they confirm me in my opinion — that 
it is in vain for us to lay down fixed precepts for the regu- 
lation of the mind, so long as it is dependent upon the 
body. Happiness and its reverse are constitutional in 
many persons, and it is then only that they are independent 
of circumstances. Make the health, the frames of all men, 
alike — make their nerves of the same susceptibility — - 
their memories of the same bluntness, or acuteness — and 
I will then allow that you can give rules adapted to all 
men ; till then, your maxim, ‘ never to regret,’ is as idle 
as Horace’s ‘never to admire.’ It may be wise to you 
— it is impossible to me!” 

With these last words, Glanville’s voice faltered, and I 
felt averse to* push the argument further. Ellen’s eye 
caught mine, and gave me a look so kind, and almost 
grateful, that I forgot every thing else in the world. A 
few moments afterwards a friend of Lady Glanville’s was 
announced, aud I left the room. 


S46 


PELHAMJ OB, 


CHAPTER LY. 

Intus, et in jecore segro, 

Nascuntur doraini — Persius. 

The next two or three days I spent in visiting all my 
male friends in the Lower House, and engaging them to 
dine with me, preparatorily to the great act of voting on 
’s motion. I led them myself to the House of Com- 
mons, and not feeling sufficiently interested in the debat8 
to remain, as a stranger, where I ought, in ray own opinion, 
to have acted as a performer, I went to Brooke’s to wait 
the result. Lord Gravelton, a stout, bluff, six-foot noble- 
man, with a voice like a Stentor, was “ blowing up ” the 

waiters in the coffee-room. Mr. , the author of , 

was conning the Courier in a corner ; and Lord Armadil- 
leros, the haughtiest and most honorable peer in the 
calendar, was monopolizing the drawing-room, with his 
right foot on one hob and his left on the other. I sat 
myself down in silence, and looked over the “crack article ” 
in the Edinburgh. By and by, the room got fuller ; every 
one spoke of the motion before the House, and anticipated 
the merits of the speeches, and the numbers of the voters. 

At last a principal member entered — a crowd gathered 
round him. “ I have heard,” he said, “ the most extraor- 
dinary speech, for the combination of knowledge and 
imagination, that I ever recollect to have listened to.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 345 

“ From Gaskell, I suppose ? ” was the universal cry. 

“ No,” said Mr “ Gaskell has not yet spoken It 

was from a young man who has only just taken his seat. 
It was received with the most unanimous cheers, and was, 
indeed, a remarkable display.” 

“ What is his name ? ” I asked, already half forebodicg 
the answer. 

“I only just learnt it as I left the House,” replied Mr. 
; “the speaker was Sir Reginald Glanville.” 

Then, every one of those whom I had often before heard 
censure Glanville for his rudeness, or laugh at him for his 
eccentricity, opened their mouths in congratulations to 
their own wisdom, for having long admired his talents and 
predicted his success. 

I left the “ turba Remi sequens fortunam ; ” I felt 
agitated and feverish ; those who have unexpectedly 
heard of the success of a man for whom great affection is 
blended with greater interest, can understand the restless- 
ness of mind with which I wandered into the streets. 
The air was cold and nipping. I was buttoning my coat 
round my chest, when I heard a voice say, “You have 
dropped your glove, Mr. Pelham.” 

The speaker was Thornton. I thanked him coldly for 
his civility, and was going on, when he said, “ If your 
way is up Pall Mall, I have no objection to join you for 
a few minutes.” 

I bowed with some hauteur ; but as I seldom refuse 
any opportunity of knowing more perfectly individual 


PELHAM; OR, 


£48 

character, I said I should be happy of his company so 
long as our way lay together. 

“ It is a cold night, Mr. Pelham,” said Thornton, after 
a pause. “ I have been dining at Hatchett’s, with an old 
Paris acquaintance : I am sorry we did not meet more 
often in France, but I was so taken up with my friend 
Mr. Warburton.” 

As Thornton uttered that name, he looked hard at me, 
and then added, “ By the by, I saw you with Sir Reginald 
Glanville the other day ; you know him well, I presume ? ” 

“ Tolerably well,” said I, with indifference. 

“What a strange character he is,” rejoined Thornton ; 
“7 also have known him for some years,” and again 
Thornton looked pryingly into my countenance. Poor 
fool ! it was not for a penetration like his to read the cor 
inscrutabile of a man born and bred like me, in the con- 
summate dissimulation of bon ton. 

“He is very rich, is he not?” said Thornton, aftc 
brief silence. 

“ I believe so,” said I. 

“ Humph ! ” answered Thornton. “ Things have grown 
better with him, in proportion as they grew worse with 
me, who have had ‘as good luck as the cow that stuck 
herself with her own horn.’ I suppose he is not too 
anxious to recollect me — ‘poverty parts fellowship.’ 
Well, hang pride, say I ; give me an honest heart all the 
year round, in summer or winter, drought or plenty 
Would to heaven some kind friend would lend me twenty 
pounds ! ” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 349 

To this wish I made no reply. Thornton sighed. 

“Mr. Pelham,” renewed he, “it is true I have known 
you but a short time — excuse the liberty I take — but if 
you could lend me a trifle, it would really assist me very 
much.” 

“Mr. Thornton,” said I, “if I knew you better, and 
~*ould serve you more, you might apply to me for a more 
eal assistance than any bagatelle I could afford you would 
be. If twenty pounds would really be of service to you, 
I will lend them to you, upon this condition, that you 
never ask me for another farthing.” 

Thornton’s face brightened. “A thousand, thousand — ” 
he began. 

“No,” interrupted I, “no thanks, only your promise.” 

“Upon my honor,” said Thornton, “I will never ask 
you for another farthing.” 

“ There is honor among thieves,” thought I, and so I 
took out the sum mentioned, and gave it to him. In good 
earnest, though I disliked the man, his threadbare gar- 
ments and altered appearance moved me to compassion. 
While he was pocketing the money, which he did with 
the most unequivocal delight, a tall figure passed us 
rapidly. We both turned at the same instant, and recog- 
nized Glanville. He had not gone seven yards beyond 
us, before we observed his steps, which were very irregu- 
lar, pause suddenly ; a moment afterwards he fell against 
the iron rails of an area ; we hastened towards him ; ho 
was apparently fainting. His countenance was perfectly 
livid, and marked with the traces of extreme exhaustion. 

I. — 30 


850 


PELHAM; OR, 


I sent Thornton to the nearest public-house for some 
rater; before he returned, Glanville had recovered. 

“All — all — in vain,” he said, slowly and unconsciously, 
"death is the only Lethe.” 

He started when he saw me. I made him lean on my 
arm, and we walked on slowly. 

have already heard of your speech,” said I. Glan- 
ville smiled with the usual faint and sickbed expression, 
which made his smile painful even in its exceeding sweet- 
ness. 

“ You have also already seen its effects ; the excitement 
was too much for me.” 

“ It must have been a proud moment when you sat 
down,” said I. 

“ It was one of the bitterest I ever felt — it was fraught 
with the memory of the dead. What are all honors to 
me now ? — 0 God ! 0 God ! have mercy upon me ! ” 

And Glanville stopped suddenly, and put his hand to 
his temples. 

By this time Thornton had joined us. When Glanville’s 
eyes rested upon him, a deep hectic rose slowly and grad- 
ually over his cheeks. Thornton’s lip curled with a ma- 
licious expression. Glanville marked it, and his brow 
grew on the moment as black as night. 

" Begone ! ” he said, in a loud voice, and with a flashing 
eye, “ begone instantly ; I loathe the very sight of so base 
a thing.” 

Thornton’s quick, restless eye, grew like a living coal, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 351 

and he bit his lip so violently that the blood gushed out. 
He made, however, no other answer than — 

“You seem agitated to-night, Sir Reginald; I wish 
your speedy restoration to better health. Mr. Pelham, 
your servant.” 

Glanville walked on in silence till we came to his door ; 
we parted there ; and, for want of any thing better to d*, 

I sauntered towards the M Hell. There were only 

about ten or twelve persons in the rooms, and all were 
gathered round the hazard table — I looked on silently, 
seeing the knaves devour the fools, and younger brothers 
make up in wit for the deficiencies of fortune. 

The Honorable Mr. Blagrave came up to me ; “ Do 
you never play ? ” said he. 

“ Sometimes,” was my brief reply. 

“Lend me a hundred pounds !” rejoined my kind ac- 
quaintance. 

“I was just going to make you the same request,” said I. 

Blagrave laughed heartily. “Well,” said he, “be my 
security to a Jew, and I’ll be yours. My fellow lends me 

money at only forty per cent. My governor is a d d 

stingy old fellow, for I am the most moderate son in the 
universe. I neither hunt nor race, nor have I any one 
favorite expense, except gambling, and he won’t satisfy 
me in that — now I call such conduct shameful !” 

“Unheard-of barbarity,” said I ; “ and you do well to 
ruin your property by Jews, before you have it ; you could 
not avenge yourself better on ‘the governor.’” 

“No, hang it,” said Blagrave, “leave me alone for 


352 PELHAM; OR, 

that ! Well, I have got five pounds left, I shall go and 
slap it down.” 

No sooner had he left me than I was accosted bv Mr. 

•/ 

, a handsome adventurer, who lived the devil knew 

how, for the devil seemed to take excellent care of him. 

“Poor Blagrave ! ” said he, eyeing the countenance of 
that ingenious youth. “ He is a strange fellow — he asked 
me the other day, if I ever read the History of England, 
and told me there was a great deal in it about his ancestor, 
a Roman General, in the time of William the Conqueror, 
called Caractacus. He told me at the last Newmarket, 
that he had made up a capital book, and it turned out 
that he had hedged with such dexterity, that he must lose 
one thousand pounds, and he might lose two. Well, well,” 

continued , with a sanctified expression ; “ I would 

sooner see those real fools here, thart the confounded 
scoundrels, who pillage one under a false appearance. 
Never, Mr. Pelham, trust to a man at a gaming-house ; 
the honestest look hides the worst sharper ! Shall you 
try your luck to-night ? ” 

“No,” said I. “I shall only look on.” 

sauntered to the table, and sat down next to a 

rich young man, of the best temper and the worst luck 

in the world. After a few throws, said to him, 

“Lord , do put your money aside — you have so 

much on the table, that it interferes with mine — and that 
is really so unpleasant. Suppose you put some of it in 
your pocket.” 

Lord took a handful of notes, and stufled them 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 353 

carelessly in his coat-pocket. Five minutes afterwards I 

saw insert his hand, empty, in his neighbor’s pocket, 

and bring it out full — and half an hour afterwards he 
handed over a fifty pound note to the marker, saying, 

“ There, sir, is my debt to you. God bless me, Lord , 

how you have won ; I wish you would not leave all your 
money about — do put it in your pocket with the rest.” 

Lord (who had perceived the trick, though he 

was too indolent to resist it) laughed. “ No, no, ,” 

said he, “you must let me keep some/” 

colored, and soon after rose. “ D — n my luck ! ” 

said he, as he passed me. “ I wonder I continue to play 
— but there are suclr sharpers in the room. Avoid a 
gaming-house, Mr. Pelham, if you wish to live.” 

“And let live,” thought I. 

I was just gorhg away, when I heard a loud laugh on 
the stairs, and immediately afterwards Thornton entered, 
joking with one of the markers. He did not see me ; 
but approaching the table, drew out the identical twenty 
pound note I had given him, and asked for change with 
the air of a millionaire. I did not wait to witness his 
fortune, good or ill ; I cared too little about it. I de- 
scended the stairs, and the servant, on opening the door 
for me, admitted Sir John Tyrrell. “ What,” I thought, 
“is the habit still so strong ?” We stopped each other, 
and after a few words of greeting, I went, once more, up 
stairs with him. 

Thornton was playing as eagerly with his small quota 

as Lord C with his ten thousands. He nodded with 

30* X 


354 


PELHAM; OR, 

an affected air of familiarity to Tyrrell, who returned his 
salutation with the most supercilious hauteur ; and very 
soon afterwards the baronet was utterly engrossed by the 
chances of the game. I had, however, satisfied my curi- 
osity, in ascertaining that there was no longer any inti- 
macy between him and Thornton, and accordingly Dnce 
more I took my departure. 


CHAPTER LYI. 

The times have been 

That when the brains were out, the man would die, 

And there an end — but now they rise again. — Macbeth. 

It was a strange thing to see a man like Glanville, with 
costly tastes, luxurious habits, great talents peculiarly 
calculated for display, courted by the highest members of 
the state, admired for his beauty and genius by half the 
women in London, yet living in the most ascetic seclusion 
from his kind, and indulging in the darkest and most 
morbid despondency. No female was ever seen to win 
even his momentary glance of admiration. All the senses 
appeared to have lost, for him, their customary allure- 
ments. He lived among his books, and seemed to make 
his favorite companions amidst the past. At nearly all 
hours of the night he was awake and occupied, and at 
day-break his horse was always brought to his door. He 
rode alone for several hours, and then, on his return, he 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


355 


was employed till the hour he went to the House, in tho 
affairs and politics of the day. Ever since his debut , he 
had entered with much constancy into the more leading 
debates, and his speeches were invariably of the same 
commanding order which had characterized his first. 

It was singular that, in his parliamentary display, as in 
his ordinary conversation, there were none of the wild 
and speculative opinions, or the burning enthusiasm of 
romance, in which the natural inclination of his mind 
seemed so essentially to delight. His arguments were 
always remarkable for the soundness of the principles on 
which they were based, and the logical clearness with 
which they were expressed. The feverish fervor ot his 
temperament was, it is true, occasionally shown in a re- 
markable energy of delivery, or a sudden and unexpected 
burst of the more impetuous powers of oratory ; but these 
were so evidently natural and spontaneous, and so happily 
adapted to be impressive of the subject, rather than irrel- 
evant from its bearings, that they never displeased even 
the oldest and coldest cynics and calculators of the House. 

It is no uncommon contradiction in human nature (and 
in Glanville it seemed peculiarly prominent) to find men 
of imagination and genius gifted with the strongest com- 
mon sense, for the admonition or benefit of others , even 
while constantly neglecting to exert it for themselves. 
He was soon marked out as the most promising and im- 
portant of all the junior members of the House ; and the 
coldness with which he kept aloof from social intercourse 


PELHAM; OR, 


8b6 

with the party he adopted, only served to increase their 
respect, though it prevented their affection. 

Lady Roseville’s attachment to him was scarcely a 
secret; the celebrity of her name in the world of ton 
made her least look or action the constant subject of 
present remark and after conversation ; and there were 
too many moments, even in the watchful publicity of 
society, when that charming but imprudent person forgot 
everything but the romance of her attachment. Glanville 
seemed not only perfectly untouched by it, but even wholly 
unconscious of its existence, and preserved invariably, 
whenever he was forced into the crowd, the same stern, 
cold, unsympathizing reserve, which made him, at once, 
an object of universal conversation and dislike. 

Three weeks after Glanville’s first speech in the House, 
I called upon him, with a proposal from Lord Dawton. 
After we had discussed it, we spoke on more familiar 
topics, and, at last, he mentioned Thornton. It will bo 
observed that we had never conversed respecting that 
person ; nor had Glanville once alluded to our former 
meetings, or to his disguised appearance and false appel- 
lation at Paris. Whatever might be the mystery, it was 
evidently of a painful nature, and it was not, therefore, 
for me to allude to it. This day he spoke of Thornton 
with a tone of indifference. 

“ The man,” he said, “ I have known for some time ; 
he was useful to me abroad, and, notwithstanding his 
character, I rewarded him well for his services. He has 
6ince applied to me several times for money, which is 


ADVENTURES Of A GENTLEMAN. 


357 


spent at the gambling-house as soon as it is obtained. 

I believe him to be leagued with a gang of sharpers of 
the lowest description ; and I am really unwilling any 
farther to supply the vicious necessities of himself and 
his comrades. He is a mean, mercenary rascal, who would 
scruple at no enormity, provided he was paid for it ! ” 
Glanville paused for a few moments, and then added, 
while his cheek blushed, and his voice seemed somewhat 
hesitating and embarrassed — 

“You remember Mr. Tyrrell, at Paris?” 

“Yes,” said I — “he is, at present, in London, and — ” 
Glanville started as if be had been shot. 

“No, no,” he exclaimed wildly — “he died at Paris, 
from want, — from starvation.” 

“You are mistaken,” said I; “he is now Sir John 
Tyrrell, and possessed of considerable property. I saw 
him myself, three weeks ago.” 

Glanville, laying his hand upon my arm, looked in my 
face with a long, stern, prying gaze, and his cheek grew 
more ghastly and livid with every moment. At last he 
turned, and muttered something between his teeth ; and 
at that moment the door opened, and Thornton was an- 
nounced. Glanville sprang towards him, and seized him 
by the throat ! 

“Dog!” he cried, “you have deceived me — Tyrrell 
lives I ” 

“ Hands off! ” cried the gamester, with a savage grin 
of defiance — “ hands off ! or, by the Lord that made me, 
you shall have gripe for gripe ! ” 


PELHAM; OR, 


358 

“ Ho, wretch ! ” said Glanville, shaking him violently, 
while his worn and slender, yet still powerful frame, 
trembled with the excess of his passion ; “ dost thou dare 
to threaten me ! ” and with these words he flung Thornton 
against the opposite wall with such force, that the blood 
gushed out of his mouth and nostrils. The gambler rose 
slowly, and wiping the blocd from his face, fixed his 
malignant and fiery eye upon his aggressor, with an ex- 
pression of collected hate and veugeance, that made my 
very blood creep. 

“ It is not my day now” he said, with a calm, quiet, 
cold voice, and then, suddenly changing his manner, he 
approached me with a sort of bow, and made some remark 
on the weather. 

Meanwhile, Glanville had sunk on the sofa exhausted, 
less by his late effort than the convulsive passion which 
had produced it. He rose in a few moments, and said 
to Thornton, “ Pardon my violence ; let this pay your 
bruises ; ” and he placed a long and apparently well-filled 
purse in Thornton’s hand. That veritable philosophe 
took it with the same air as a dog receives the first caress 
from the hand which has just chastised him ; and feeling 
the purse between his short, hard fingers, as if to ascertain 
the soundness of its condition, quietly slid it into his 
breeches-pocket, which he then buttoned with care, and 
pulling his waistcoat down, as if for further protection to 
the deposit, he turned towards Glanville, and said, in his 
usual quaint style of vulgarity — 

“ Least said, Sir Reginald, the soonest mended. Gold 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 359 

!s a good plaister for bad bruises. Now, then, your will : 
— ask and I will answer, unless you think Mr. Pelham — • 
de trop 

I was already at the door, with the intention of leaving 
the room, when Glanville cried, “ Stay, Pelham, I have 
but one question to ask Mr. Thornton. Is John Tyrrell 
still living ? ” 

“He is ! ” answered Thornton, with a sardonic smile. 

“And beyond all want?” resumed Glanville. 

“ He is ! ” w r as the tautological reply. 

“Mr. Thornton,” said Glanville, with a calm voice, “I 
have now done with you — you may leave the room ! ” 

Thornton bowed with an air of ironical respect, and 
obeyed the command. 

I turned to look at Glanville. His countenance, always 
better adapted to a stern, than a soft expression, was 
perfectly fearful : every line in it seemed dug into a furrow ; 
the brows were bent over his large and flashing eyes with 
a painful intensity of anger and resolve, his teeth were 
clenched firmly as if by a vice, and the thin upper lip, 
which was drawn from them with a bitter curl of scorn, 
was as white as death. His right hand had closed upon 
the back of the chair, over which his tall nervous frame 
leant, and was grasping it with an iron force, which it 
could not support : it snapped beneath his hand like a 
hazel stick. This accident, slight as it was, recalled him 
to himself. He apologized with apparent self-possession 
fcr his disorder ; and, after a few words of fervent and 
affectionate farewell on my part, I left him to the solitude 
which I knew he desired. 


860 


PELHAM; OB, 


CHAPTER L VII. 

While I seemed only intent upon pleasure, I locked in my heart 
the consciousness and vanity of power; in the levity of the lip, I 
disguised the knowledge and the workings of the brain ; and I 
looked, as with a gifted eye, upon the mysteries of the hidden depths, 
while I seemed to float an idler with the herd only upon the surface 
of the stream, — Falkland. 

As I walked home, revolving the scene I had witnessed, 
the words of Tyrrell came into my recollection — viz. that 
the cause of Glanville’s dislike to him had arisen in Tyr- 
rell’s greater success in some youthful liaison. In this 
account I could not see much probability. In the first 
place, the cause was not sufficient to produce such an 
effect ; and, in the second, there was but little likelihood 
that the young and rich Glanville, possessed of the most 
various accomplishments, and the most remarkable per- 
sonal beauty, should be supplanted by a needy spendthrift 
(as Tyrrell at that time was), of coarse manners, and 
unpolished mind ; with a person not, indeed, unprepos 
sessing, but somewhat touched by time, and never more 
comparable to Glanville’s than that of the Satyr to Hy- 
perion. 

While I was meditating over a mystery which excited 
my curiosity more powerfully than anything, not relating 
to himself, ought ever to occupy the attention of a wise 
man, I was accosted by Vincent : the difference in our 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


361 


politics had of late much dissevered us, and when he took 
my arm, and drew me up Bond-street, I was somewhat 
surprised at his condescension. 

“ Listen to me,” he said : “ once more I offer you a 
settlement in our colony. There will be great changes 
soon : trust me, so radical a party as that you have adopted 
can never come in : ours, on the contrary, is no less mod- 
erate than liberal. This is the last time of asking ; for I 
know you will soon have exposed your opinions in public 
more openly than you have yet done, and then it will be 
too late. At present, I hold, with Hudibras, and the 
ancients, that it is — 

‘More honorable far, servare 
Civem than slay an adversary.’ ” 

‘‘Alas, Vincent,” said I, “ I am marked out for slaughter : 
for you cannot convince me by words, and so, I suppose, 
you must conquer me by blows. Adieu, this is my way 
to Lord Dawton’s : where are you going ? ” 

“ To mount my horse, and join the parca juventus,” 
said Vincent, with a laugh at his own witticism, as we 
shook hands, and parted. 

I grieve much, my beloved reader, that I cannot unfold 
to thee all the particulars of my political intrigue. I am, 
by the very share w r hich fell to my lot, bound over to the 
strictest secrecy, as to its nature, and the characters of 
the chief agents in its execution. Suffice it to say, that 
the greater part of my time was, though furtively, employed 
in a sort of home diplomacy, gratifying alike to the activity 
of my tastes, and the vanity of my mind. I had filled 
I. —31 


362 


PELHAM; OR, 


Dawton, and his coadjutors, with an exaggerated opinion 
of mv abilities ; but I knew well how to sustain it. 1 
rose by candle-light, and consumed, in the intensest appli- 
cation, the hours which every other individual of our party 
wasted in enervating slumbers, from the hesternal dissi- 
pation or debauch. Was there a question in political 
economy debated, mine was the readiest and the clearest 
reply. i)id a period in our constitution become investiga- 
ted, it was I to whom the duty of expositor was referred. 
From Madame d’Anville, with whom (though lost as a 
lover) I constantly corresponded as a friend, I obtained 
the earliest and most accurate detail of the prospects and 
manoeuvres of the court in which her life was spent, and 
in whose more secret offices her husband was employed. 
I spared no means of extending my knowledge of every 
the minutest point which could add to the reputation I 
enjoyed. I made myself acquainted with the individual 
interests and exact circumstances of all whom it was our 
object to intimidate or to gain. It was I who brought 
to the House the younger and idler members, whom no 
more nominally powerful agent could allure from the ball- 
room or the gaming-house. 

In short, while, by the dignity of my birth, and the 
independent hauteur of my bearing, I preserved the rank 
of an equal amongst the highest of the set, I did not 
scruple to take upon myself the labor and activity of the 
most subordinate. Dawton declared me his right hand ; 
and though I knew myself rather his head than his hand, 
l pretended to feel proud of the appellation. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 3G3 

Meanwhile, it was my pleasure to wear in society the 
eccentric costume of character I had first adopted, and to 
cultivate the arts which won from women the smile tliai 
cheered and encouraged me in my graver contest with men. 
It was only to Ellen Grlanville, that I laid aside an affec* 
tat ion, which, I knew, was little likely to attract a taste 
so refined and unadulterated as hers. I discovered in 
her a mind which, while it charmed me by its tenderness 
and freshness, elevated me by its loftiness of thought. 
She was, at heart, perhaps, as ambitious as myself ; but 
while my aspirations were concealed by affectation, hers 
were softened by her timidity, and purified by her religion. 
There were moments when I opened myself to her, and 
caught a new spirit from her look of sympathy and enthu- 
siasm. 

“ Yes,” thought I, “ I do long for honors, but it is that 
I may ask her to share and ennoble them.” In fine, I 
loved as other men loved — and 1 fancied a perfection in 
her, and vowed an emulation in myself, which it was re- 
served for Time to ratify or deride. 

Where did I leave myself? as the Irishman said ; — on 
my road to Lord Dawton’s. I was lucky enough to find 
that personage at home ; he was writing at a table covered 
with pamphlets and books of reference. 

“ Hush ! Pelham,” said his lordship, who is a quiet, 
grave, meditative little man, always ruminating on a very 
small cud — “hush ! or do oblige me by looking over this 
history, to find out the date of the Council of Pisa.” 


\ 


364 


PELHAM. 


“That will do, my young friend,” said his lordship, 
after I had furnished him with the information he required 
— “I wish to Heaven, I could finish this pamphlet by to- 
morrow : it is intended as an answer to . But I am 

so perplexed with business that ” 

“ Perhaps,” said I, “ if you will pardon my interrupting 
you, lean throw your observations together — make your 
Sibylline leaves into a book. Your lordship will find the 
matter, and I will not spare the trouble.” 

Lord Dawton was profuse in his thanks ; he explained 
the subject, and left the arrangement wholly to me. He 
could not presume to dictate. I promised him, if he lent 
me the necessary books, to finish the pamphlet against the 
following evening. 

“And now,” said Lord Dawton — “ that we have settled 

this affair — what news from France ?” — 

****** 

****** 

****** 

“I wish,” sighed Lord Dawton, as we were calculating 
our forces, “that we could gain over Lord Guloseton.” 

“ What, the facetious epicure ? ” said I. 

“ The same,” answered Dawton : “ we want him as a 
dinner-giver ; and, besides, he has four votes in the Lower 
House.” 

“Well,” said I, “he is indolent and independent — it is 
not impossible.” 

“ Do you know him ? ” answered Dawton. 

“ No : ” said I. 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 365 


? ” said tho 


Dawton sighed. — “And young A — 
statesman, after a pause. 

“ Has an expensive mistress, and races. Your lordship 
might be sure of him, were you in power, and sure not to 
have him while you are out of it.” 

“And B. ? ” rejoined Dawton. 


* 

* 

* 


* 

* 

* 


♦ 

* 

♦ 


* 

* 

* 


* 

4c 

4c 


4c 

* 

* 


31 * 


END or THK FIRST VOLUME. 










; 


r 

































































- 

* 


































PELHAM 


VOL. II. 



PELHAM; 


OR, 

ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


CHAPTER LYIII. 

Mangez-vous bien, Monsieur? 

Oui, et bois encore mieux. — Mons. de Porceaugnac. 

My pamphlet took prodigiously. The authorship was 
attributed to one of the ablest members of the Opposition ; 
and though there were many errors in style, and (I now 
thiuk- - then I did not, or I should not have written them,) 
many sophisms in the reasoning, yet it carried the end 
proposed by all ambition of whatever species — and im- 
posed upon the taste of the public. 

Some time afterwards, I was going down the stairs at 
Almack’s, when I heard an altercation, high and grave, at 
the door of reception. To my surprise, I found Lord 
Guloseton and a very young man in great wrath ; the 
latter had never been to Almack’s before, and had forgotten 

his ticket. Guloseton, who belonged to a very different 

Y (7) 


8 


PELHAM; OR, 

set from that of the Almackians, insisted that his word 
was enough to bear his juvenile companion through. The 
ticket-inspector was irate and obdurate, and, having seldom 
or never seen Lord Guloseton himself, paid very little 
respect to his authority. 

As I was wrapping myself in my cloak, Guloseton turned 
to me, for passion makes men open their hearts : too eager 
for an opportunity of acquiring the epicure’s acquaintance, 
I offered to get his friend admittance in an instant ; the 
offer was delightedly accepted, and I soon procured a 

small piece of pencilled paper from Lady which 

effectually silenced the Charon, and opened the Stygian 
via to the Elysium beyond. 

Guloseton overwhelmed me with his thanks. I remount- 
ted the stairs with him — took every opportunity of ingra- 
tiating myself — received an invitation to dinner on the 
following day, and left Willis’s transported at the good- 
ness of my fortune. 

At the hour of eight on the ensuing evening, I had just 
made my entrance in Lord Guloseton’s drawing-room. It 
was a small apartment, furnished with great luxury and 
some taste. A Venus of Titian’s was placed over the 
chimney-piece, in all the gorgeous voluptuousness of her 
unveiled beauty — the pouting lip, not silent though shut 
— the eloquent lid drooping over the eye, whose glances 
you could so easily imagine — the arras — the limbs — the 
attitude, so composed, yet so full of life — all seemed to 
indicate that sleep was not forgetfulness, and that the 
dreams of the goddess were not wholly inharmonious with 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


9 


the waking realities in which it was her gentle prerogative 
to indulge. On either side, was a picture of the delicate 
and golden hues of Claude ; these were the only landscapes 
in the room ; the remaining pictures were more suitable 
to the Venus of the luxurious Italian. Here was one of 
the beauties of Sir Peter Lely ; there was an admirable 
copy of the Hero and Leander. On the table lay the 
Basia of Johannes Secundus, and a few French works on 
Gastronomy. 

As for the genius loci — you must imagine a middle- 
sized, middle-aged man, with an air rather of delicate than 
florid health. But little of the effects of his good cheer 
was apparent in the external man. His cheeks were 
neither swollen nor inflated — his person, though not thin, 
was of no unwieldy obesity — the tip of his nasal organ 
was, it is true, of a more ruby tinge than the rest, and one 
carbuncle, of tender age and gentle dyes, diffused its 
mellow and moonlight influence over the physiognomical 
scenery — his forehead was high and bald, and the few 
locks which still rose above it, were carefully and gracefully 
curled & Vantique. Beneath a pair of grey shaggy brows, 
(which their noble owner had a strange habit of raising 
and depressing, according to the nature of his remarks,) 
rolled two very small piercing, arch, restless orbs, of a 
tender green ; and the mouth, which was wide and thick- 
lipped, was expressive of great sensuality, and curved 
upwards in a perpetual smile. 

Such was Lord Guloseton. To my surprise no other 
guest but myself appeared. 


10 


PELHAM; OR, 


11 A new friend,” said he, as we descended into the 
dining-room, “is like a new dish — one must have him all 
to oneself, thoroughly to enjoy and rightly to understand 
him.” 

“A noble precept,” said I, with enthusiasm. “ Of all 
vices, indiscriminate hospitality is the most pernicious. It 
allows neither conversation nor dinner, and, realizing the 
mythological fable of Tantalus, gives us starvation in the 
midst of plenty.” 

“ You are right,” said Guloseton, solemnly ; “ I never 
ask above six persons to dinner, and I never dine out ; for 
a bad dinner, Mr. Pelham, a bad dinner is a most serious 

— I may add, the most serious calamity.” 

“ Yes,” I replied, “ for it carries with it no consolation : 
a buried friend may be replaced — a lost mistress renewed 

— a slandered character be recovered — even a broken 
constitution restored ; but a dinner, once lost, is irreme- 
diable ; that day is for ever departed ; an appetite once 
thrown away can never, till the cruel prolixity of the 
gastric agents is over, be regained. ‘ II y a tant de mat- 
tresses , ’ (says the admirable Corneille,) ‘ il n'y a qu'un 
diner.’ ” 

“You speak like an oracle — like the Cook's Oracle , 
Mr. Pelham : may I send you some soup ? — it is d la Car- 
melite. But what are you about to do with that case ? ” 

“ It contains,” said I, “ my spoon, my knife, and my 
fork. Nature afflicted me with a propensity, which, through 
these machines, I have endeavored to remedy by art. I 
eat with too great a rapidity. It is a most unhappy failing, 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


11 


for one often hurries over in one minute, what ought to 
have afforded the fullest delight for the period of jive. It 
is, indeed, a vice which deadens enjoyment, as well as 
abbreviates it ; it is a shameful waste of the gifts, and a 
melancholy perversion of the bounty, of Providence. My 
conscience tormented me ; but the habit, fatally indulged 
in early childhood, was not easy to overcome. At last I 
resolved to construct a spoon of peculiarly shallow dimen- 
sions, a fork so small, that it could only raise a certain 
portion to my mouth, and a knife rendered blunt and 
jagged, so that it required a proper and just time to carve 
the goods ‘the gods provide me.’ My lord, ‘the lovely 
Thais sits beside me 9 in the form of a bottle of Madeira. 
Suffer me to take wine with you?” 

“ With pleasure, my good friend ; let us drink to the 
memory of the Carmelites, to whom we are indebted for 
this inimitable soup.” 

“ Yes ! ” I cried. “ Let us for once shake off the pre- 
judices of sectarian faith, and do justice to one order of 
those incomparable men, who, retiring from the cares of 
an idle and sinful world, gave themselves with undivided 
zeal and attention to the theory and practice of the pro- 
found science of gastronomy. It is reserved for us to pay 
a grateful tribute of memory to those exalted recluses, 
who, through a long period of barbarism and darkness 
preserved, in the solitude of their cloisters, whatever of 
Roman luxury and classic dainties have come down to this 
later age. We will drink to the Carmelites as a sect, but 


12 


PELHAM; OR, 


<ve will drink also to the monks as a body. Had we lived 
in those days, we had been monks ourselves ! ” 

“ It is singular,” answered Lord Guloseton — “ (by the 
by, what think you of this turbot ?) — to trace the history 
of the kitchen ; it affords the greatest scope to the phi- 
losopher and the moralist. The ancients seemed to have 
been more mental, more imaginative, than we are, in their 
dishes ; they fed their bodies as well as their minds upon 
delusion : for instance, they esteemed beyond all price the 
tongues of nightingales, because they tasted the very music 
of the birds in the organs of their utterance. That is what 
I call the poetry of gastronomy ! ” 

“ Yes,” said I, with a sigh, “ they certainly had, in 
some respects, the advantage over us. Who can pore over 
the suppers of Apicius without the fondest regret ? The 
venerable Ude * implies, that the study has not progressed. 
1 Cookery (he says, in the first part of his work) possesses 
but few innovators.’” 

“ It is with the greatest diffidence,” said Guloseton, 
(his mouth full of truth and turbot,) “ that we may dare 
to differ from so great an authority. Indeed, so high is 
my veneration for that wise man, that if all the evidence 
of my sense and reason were on one side, and the dictum 
of the great Ude upon the other, I should be inclined — 
I thii k, I should be determined — to relinquish the former, 
and adopt the latter.” f 

“ Bravo, Lord Guloseton,” cried I, warmly. “ 1 Qu'un 

* Qu. The venerable Bede ? — Printer's Devil. 
f See the speech of Mr. Brougham in honor of Mr. Fox. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 13 

Cuisinier est un mortel divin !* Why should we not bo 
proud of our knowledge in cookery ? it is the soul of 
festivity at all times, and to all ages. How many mar- 
riages have been the consequence of meeting at dinner ! 
How much good fortune has been the result of a good 
supper ? At what moment of our existence are we happier 
than at table ? There hatred and animosity are lulled to 
sleep, and pleasure alone reigns. Here the cook, by his 
skill and attention, anticipates our wishes in the happiest 
selection of the best dishes and decorations. Here our 
wants are satisfied, our minds and bodies invigorated, and 
ourselves qualified for the high delights of love, music, 
poetry, dancing, and other pleasures ; and is he, whose 
talents have produced these happy effects, to rank no 
higher iu the scale of man than a common servant ? * 
“‘Yes/ cries the venerable professor himself, in a 
virtuous and prophetic paroxysm of indignant merit — 
‘yes, my disciples, if you adopt, and attend to the rules 
I have laid down, the self-love of mankind will consent at 
last, that cookery shall rank in the class of the sciences, 
and its professors deserve the name of artists ! ’ ” j* 

“ My dear, dear Sir,” exclaimed Guloseton, with a 
kindred glow, “I discover in you a spirit similar to my 
own. Let us drink long life to the venerable TJde ! ” 

“ I pledge you, with all my soul,” said I, filling my glass 
to the brim. 

“What a pity,” rejoined Guloseton, “that Ude, whose 
practical science was so perfect, should ever have written, 


* Ude, verbatim. 

II. — 2 


f Ibid. 


13 PELHAM; OR, 

% 

or suffered others to write, the work published under hia 
name ! True it is that the opening part, which you have 
so feelingly recited, is composed with a grace, a charm 
beyond the reach of art ; but the instructions are vapid and 
frequently so erroneous, as to make us suspect thei? 
authenticity ; but, after all, cooking is not capable ol 
becoming a written science — it is the philosophy of 
practice ! ” 

“Ah ! by Lucullus,” exclaimed I, interrupting host, my 
“ what a visionary bcchamelle ! Oh, the inimitable sauce * 
these chickens are indeed worthy of the honor of being 
dressed. Never, my lord, as long as you live, eat a chicken 
in the country ; excuse a pun, you will have foul fare. 

‘J’ai toujours redoute la volatile perfide, 

Qui brave les efforts d’une dent intrepide. 

Souvent, par un ami dans ses champs entrain^. 

J’ai reconnu le soir le coq infortund 
Qui m’avait le matin a, l’aurore naissante 
Reveille brusquement de sa voix glapissante; 

Je l’avais admirtj dans le sein de la cour ; 

Avec des yeux jaloux, j’avais vu son amour. 

Helas ! le malheureux, abjurant sa tendresse, 

Exercait au souper sa fureur vengresse.’* 


* Ever I dread (when duped a day to spend 
At his snug villa, by some fatal friend) 

Grim chanticleer, whose breast, devoid of ruth, 
Braves the stout effort of the desperate tooth. 
Oft have I recognized at eve, the bird 
Whose morning notes my ear prophetic heard, 
Whose tender courtship won my pain’d regard, 
Amidst- the plumed seraglio of the yard. 

Tender no more — behold him in your plate — 
And know, while eating, you avenge his fate- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


15 


Pardon the prolixity of my quotation for the sake of its 
value.” 

“ I do, I do,” answered Guloseton, laughing at the 
humor of the lines : till, suddenly cheeking himself, he said, 
“ we must be grave, Mr. Pelham ; it will never do to laugh. 
What would become of our digestions ? ” 

“ True,” said I, relapsing into seriousness ; “ and if yon 
will allow me one more quotation, you will see what my 
author adds with regard to any abrupt interruption. 

‘ D6fendez que personne, au milieu d’un banquet, 

Ne vous vienne donner un avis indiscret; 

Ecartex ce facheux qui vers vous s’achemine; 

Rien ne doit d^ranger l’honnete homme qui dine.’”* 

“Admirable advice,” said Guloseton, toying with a filet 
mignon de poulet. “ Do you remember an example in 
the Bailly of Suffren, who, being in India, was w r aited 
upon by a deputation of natives while he w r as at dinner ? 
‘Tell them/ said he, ‘that the Christian religion peremp- 
torily forbids every Christian, while at table, to occupy 
himself wdth any earthly subject, except the function of 
eating/ The deputation retired in the profoundest respect 
at the exceeding devotion of the French general.” 

“Well,” said I, after we had chuckled gravely and 
quietly, with the care of our digestion before us, for a few 
minutes — “well, how r ever good the invention was, the 

* At meals no access to the indiscreet; 

All are intruders on the wise who eat. 

In that blest hour, your bore’s the veriest sinner! 

Nought must disturb a man of worth — at dinner. 


16 


PELHAM; OR, 


idea is not entirely new, for the Greeks esteemed eating 
and drinking plentifully, a sort of offering to the gods ; 
and Aristotle explains the very word, ©oivai, or feasts, by 
an etymological exposition, ‘ that it was thought a duty 
to the gods to be drunk;' no bad idea of our classica* 
patterns of antiquity. Polypheme, too, in the Cyclops 
of Euripides, no doubt a very sound theologian, says, his 
stomach is his only deity ; and Xenophon tells us, that as 
the Athenians exceeded all other people in the number 
of their gods, so they exceeded them also in the number 
of their feasts. May I send your lordship a quail ? " 

“ Pelham, my boy,” said Guloseton, whose eyes began 
to roll and twinkle with a brilliancy suited to the various 
liquids which ministered to their rejoicing orbs ; “ I love 
you for your classics. Polypheme was a wise fellow, a 
very wise fellow, and it was a terrible shame in Ulysses 
to put out his eye ! No wonder that the ingenious savage 
made a deity of his stomach ; to what known visible source, 
on this earth, was he indebted for a keener enjoyment — . 
a more rapturous and a more constant delight? No 
wonder he honored it with his gratitude, and supplied it 
with his peace-offerings; — let us imitate so great an 
example : — let us make our digestive receptacles a temple, 
to which we will consecrate the choicest goods we possess ; 
. — let us conceive no pecuniary sacrifice too great, which 
procures for our altar an acceptable gift; — let us deem 
it an impiety to hesitate, if a sauce seems extravagant, or 
an ortolan too dear ; and let our last act in this sublunary 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


17 


existence be a solemn festival in honor of our unceasing 1 
benefactor ! ” 

u Amen to your creed ! ” said I : “ edibilatory Epicurism 
holds the key to all morality : for do we not see now how 
sinful it is to yield to an obscene and exaggerated 
intemperance? — would it not be to the last degree un 
grateful to the high source of our enjoyment, to overload 
it with a weight which would oppress it with languor or 
harass it with pain ; and finally to drench away the effects 
of our impiety with some nauseous potation which revolts 
it, tortures it, convulses, irritates, enfeebles it, through 
every particle of its system ? How wrong in us to give 
way to anger, jealousy, revenge, or any evil passion ; for 

does not all that affects the mind operate also upon the 

■ 

stomach ; and how can we be so vicious, so obdurate, as 
to forget, for a momentary indulgence, our debt to what 
you have so justly designated our perpetual benefactor V 
“ Right,” said Lord Guloseton, “ a bumper to the Moral 
ity of the Stomach.” 

The dessert was now on the table. “ 1 have dined 
well,” said Guloseton, stretching his legs with an air of 
supreme satisfaction ; “but — ” and here my philosopher 
sighed deeply — “we cannot dine again till to-morrow / 
Happy, happy, happy common people, who can eat supper ! 
Would to Heaven, that I might have one boon — per- 
petual appetite — a digestive Houri, which renewed its 
virginity every time it was touched. Alas ! for the insta- 
bility of human enjoyment. But now that we have no 
immediate hope to anticipate, let us cultivate the pleasures 
2 * 


18 PELHAM; OR, 

of memory. What thought you of the veau & la Dau • 
vhine ? ” 

“ Pardon me if I hesitate at giving my opinion, till I 
have corrected my judgment by yours.” 

“Why, then, I own I was somewhat displeased — dis- 
appointed as it were — with that dish ; the fact is, veal 
ought to be killed in its very first infancy ; they suffer it 
to grow to too great an age. It becomes a sort of hobby- 
dehoy, and possesses nothing of veal, but its insipidity, or 
of beef but its toughness.” 

“Yes,” said I, “it is only in their veal, that the French 
surpass us ; their other meats want the ruby juices and 

elastic freshness of ours. Monsieur L allowed this 

truth with a candor worthy of his vast mind. Mon Dieu ! 
what claret ! — what a body ! and, let me add, what a soul , 
beneath it ! Who would drink wine like this ? it is only 
made to taste. It is the first love — too pure for the eager- 
ness of enjoyment; the rapture it inspires is in a touch, a 
kiss. It is a pity, my lord, that we do not serve perfumes 
at dessert ; it is their appropriate place. In confectionary 
(delicate invention of the Sylphs,) we imitate the forms of 
the rose and the jasimine ; why not their odors too ? What 
is nature without its scents ? — and as long as they are ab- 
sent from our desserts, it is in vain that the bard exclaims 

‘ L’observateur de la belle Nature 

S’extasie en voyant des fleurs en confiture.’ ” 

“ It is an exquisite idea of yours,” said Guloseton — 
“and the next time you dine here we will have perfumes. 
Dinner ought to be a reunion of all the senses — 

‘Gladness to the ear, nerve, heart., ana sense.’” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


19 


There was a momentary pause. “ My lord,” said I, 

“ what a lusty luseiousness in this pear ! it is like the style 
of the old English poets. What think you of the seeming 
good understanding between Mr. Gaskell and the Whigs ?” 

“ I trouble myself little about it,” replied Guloseton, 
helping himself to some preserves — “politics disturb the 
digestion.” 

“Well,” thought I, “I must ascertain some point in 
this man’s character easier to handle than his epicurism • 
all men are vain : let us find out the peculiar vanity of 
mine host.” 

“The ultra-Tories,” said I, “seem to think themselves 
exceedingly secure ; they attach no importance to the 

neutral members ; it was but the other day Lord 

told me that he did not care a straw for Mr. , 

notwithstanding he possessed four votes. Heard you ever 
such arrogance ? ” 

“No, indeed,” said Guloseton, with a lazy air of indif- 
ference — “ are you a favorer of the olive ?” 

“ No,” said I, “I love it not; it hath an under taste 
of sourness, and an upper of oil, which do not make 
harmony to my palate. But, as I was saying, the Whigs, 
on the contrary, pay the utmost deference to their par- 
tisans ; and a man of fortune, rank, and parliamentary 
influence, might have all the power, without the trouble, 
of a leader.” 

“Very likely,” said Guloseton, drowsily. 

“I must change my battery,” thought I ; but while I 
was meditating a new attack, the following note was 
brought me : 


20 


PELHAM; OR, 


For Heaven’s sake, Pelham, come out to me : I am 
waiting in the street to see you ; come directly, or it will 
be too late to render me the service I would ask of you. 

“ R. Glanville.” 

I rose instantly. “ You must excuse me, Lord Gulose- 
ton, I am called suddenly away.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” laughed the gourmand ; “ some tempting 
viand — post prandia Callirhoe ! ” 

41 My good lord,” said I, not heeding his insinuation 
— “I leave you with the greatest regret.” 

“ And I part from you with the same ; it is a real 
pleasure to see such a person at dinner.” 

“Adieu ! my host — ‘ Je vais vivre et monger en sage. ’ ’* 


CHAPTER LIX. 

I do defy him, and I spit at him, 

Call him a slanderous coward and a villain — 

Which to maintain I will allow him odds. — Siiakspeare. 

I found Glanville walking before the door with a rapid 
and uneven step. 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” he said, when he saw me ; “ I have 
been twice to Mivart’s to find you. The second time, I 
saw your servant, who told me where you were gone. ] 
knew you well enough to be sure of your kindness.” 
Glanville broke off abruptly ; and after a short pause, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


21 


Baid, with a quick, low, hurried t#ne — “ The office I wish 
you to take upon yourself is this: — go immediately to 
Sir John Tyrrell, with a challenge from me. Ever since 
I last saw you, I have been hunting out that man, and in 
vain. He had then left town. He returned this evening, 
and quits it to-morrow : you have no time to lose.” 

“ My dear Glanville,” said I, “ I have no wish to learn 
any secret you would conceal from me ; but forgive me if 
I ask some further instructions than those you have afforded 
me. Upon what plea am I to call out Sir John Tyrrell ? 
and what answer am I to give to any excuses he may 
make ? ” 

“I have anticipated your reply,” said Glanville, with 
ill-subdued impatience ; “ you have only to give this paper : 
it will prevent all discussion. Read it ; I have left it 
unsealed for that purpose.” 

I cast my eyes over the lines Glanville thrust into my 
hand ; they ran thus : 

“The time has at length come for me to demand the 
atonement so long delayed. The bearer of this, who is, 
probably, known to you, will arrange, with any person you 
may appoint, the hour and place of our meeting. He is 
unacquainted with the grounds of my complaint against 
you, but he is satisfied of my honor : your second will, 1 
presume, be the same with respect to yours. It is for me 
only to question the latter, and to declare you solemnly 
to be void alike of principle and courage, a villain and a 
poltroon. 

“ Reginald Glanville.” 


22 


I’elham; or, 


‘‘You are my earliestofriend,” said I, when I had read 
this soothing epistle ; “ and I will not flinch from the place 
you assign me : but I tell you fairly and frankly, that I 
would sooner cut off my right hand than suffer it to give 
this note to Sir John Tyrrell.” 

Glanville made no answer; we walked on, till suddenly 
stopping, he said, “ My carriage is at the corner of the 
street ; you must go instantly ; Tyrrell lodges at the Cla- 
rendon ; you will find me at home on your return.” 

I pressed his hand, and hurried on my mission. It was, 
I own, one peculiarly unwelcome and displeasing. In the 
first place, I did not like to be made a party in a business 
of the nature of which I was so profoundly ignorant. 
Secondly, if the affair terminated fatally, the world would 
not lightly condemn me for conveying to a gentleman of 
birth and fortune, a letter so insulting", and for causes of 
which I was so ignorant. Again, too, Glanville was more 
dear to me than any one, judging only of my external 
character, would suppose ; and, constitutionally indifferent 
as I am to danger for myself, I trembled like a woman at 
the peril I was instrumental in bringing upon him. But 
what weighed upon me far more than any of these reflec- 
tions, was the recollection of Ellen. Should her brother fall 
in an engagement in which I was his supposed adviser, with 
what success could I hope for those feelings from her, 
which, at present, constituted the tenderest and the bright- 
est of my hopes ? In the midst of these disagreeable ideas, 
vhe carriage stopped at the door of Tyrrell’s hotel. 

The waiter said Sir John was in the coffee-room j thither 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 23 

I immediately marched. Seated in the box nearest the 
fire sat Tyrrell, and two men of that old-fashioned roue 
set, whose members indulged in debauchery, as if it were 
an attribute of manliness, and esteemed it, as long as it 
were hearty and English, rather a virtue to boast of, than 
a vice to disown. Tyrrell nodded to me familiarly as I 
approached him ; and I saw, by the half-emptied bottles 
before him, and the flush of his sallow countenance, that 
he had not been sparing of his libations. I whispered 
that I wished to speak to him on a subject of great impor- 
tance ; he rose with much reluctance, and, after swallowing 
a large tumbler-full of port wine to fortify him for the task, 
he led the way to a small room, where he seated himself, 
and asked me, with his usual mixture of bluntness and 
good-breeding, the nature of my business. I made him 
no reply : I contented myself with placing Glanville’s billet 
doux in his hand. The room was dimly lighted with a 
single candle, and the small and capricious fire, near which 
the gambler was seated, threw its upward light, by starts 
and intervals, over the strong features and deep lines of 
his countenance. It would have been a study worthy of 
Rembrandt. 

I drew my chair near him, and half shading my eyes 
with my hand, sat down in silence to mark the effect the 
letter would produce. Tyrrell (I imagine) was a man 
originally of hardy nerves, and had been thrown much into 
the various situations of life where the disguise of all 
outward emotion is easily and insensibly taught; but 
whether his frame had been shattered by his excesses, or 

z 


24 


PELHAM; OK, 


that the insulting language of the note touched him to the 
quick, he seemed perfectly unable to govern his feelings ; 
the lines were written hastily, and the light, as I said 
before, was faint and imperfect, and he was forced to 
pause over each word as he proceeded, so that “ the 
iron” had full time to “enter into his soul.” 

Passion, however, developed itself less impetuously in 
him than in Glanville : in the latter, it was a rapid transition 
of powerful feelings, one angry wave dashing over another ; 
it was the passion of a strong and keenly susceptible mind, 
to which every sting was a dagger, and which used the 
force of a giant to das*' away the insect which attacked 
it. In Tyrrell, it was passion acting on a callous mind 
but a broken frame — his hand trembled violently — his 
voice faltered — he could scarcely command the muscles 
which enabled him to speak ; but there was no fiery start 
— no indignant burst — no flashing forth of the soul : — - 
in him, it was the body overcoming and paralyzing the 
mind ; in Glanville, it was the mind governing and con- 
vulsing the body. 

“Mr. Pelham,” he said at last, after a few preliminary 
efforts to clear his voice, “this note requires some consi- 
deration. I know not at present whom to appoint as my 
second — will you call upon me early to-morrow ? ” 

“I am sorry,” said I, “that my sole instructions were 
to get an immediate answer from you. Surely either of 
the gentlemen I saw with you would officiate as your 
second ? ” 

Tyrrell made no reply for some moments. He was 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


2 5 


endeavoring to compose himself, and in some measure he 
succeeded. He raised his head with a haughty air of 
defiance, and tearing the paper deliberately, though still 
with uncertain and trembling fingers, he stamped his foot 
upon the atoms. 

“ Tell your principal,” said he, “that I retort upon him 
the foul and false words he has uttered against me ; that 
I trample upon his aspersions with the same scorn I feel 
towards himself ; and that before this hour to-morrow I 
will confront him to death as through life. For the rest, 
Mr. Pelham, I cannot name my second till the morning ; 
leave me your address, and you shall hear from me before 
you are stirring. Have you anything further with me ? J 

“Nothing,” said I, laying my card on the table. “I 
have fulfilled the most ungrateful charge ever intrusted to 
me. I wish you good night.” 

I re-entered the carriage, and drove to Glanville’s. I 
broke into the room rather abruptly ; Glanville was leaning 
on the table, and gazing intently on a small miniature. A 
pistol-case lay beside him : one of the pistols in order for 
use, and the other still unarranged ; the room was, as usual, 
covered with books and papers, and on the costly cushions 
of the ottoman lay the large, black dog, which I remem- 
bered well as his companion of yore, and which he kept 
with him constantly, as the only thing in the world whose 
society he could at all times bear : the animal lay curled 
up, with its quick, black eye fixed watchfully upon its 
master, and directly I entered, it uttered, though without 
moving, a low, warning growl. 

IT. — 3 


26 


PELHAM; OR, 


Glanville looked up, and in some confusion thrust the 
picture into a drawer of the table, and asked me my news. 
I told him word for word what had passed. Glanville set 
his teeth, and clenched his hand firmly ; and then, as if 
his anger was at once appeased, he suddenly changed the 
subject and tone of our conversation. He spoke with 
great cheerfulness and humor on the various topics of the 
day ; touched upon politics ; laughed at Lord Guloseton, 
and seemed as indifferent and unconscious of the event of 
the morrow as my peculiar constitution would have ren- 
dered myself. 

When I rose to depart, for I had too great an interest 
in him to feel much for the subjects he conversed on, he 
said, “ I shall write one line to ray mother, and another 
to my poor sister ; you will deliver them if I fall, for I 
have sworn that one of us shall not quit the ground alive. 
I shall be all impatience to know the hour you will arrange 
with Tyrrell’s second. God bless you, and farewell for 
the present.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


2*i 


CHAPTER LX. 

Charge, Chester, charge! — Marmion. 

Though this was one of the first mercantile transactions of 
my life, I had no doubt about acquitting myself with reputation. 

Vicar of Wakefield. 

The next morning I was at breakfast, when a packet 
was brought me from Tyrrell ; it contained a sealed letter 
to Glanville, and a brief note to myself. The latter I tran- 
scribe : — 

“ My dear Sir, 

“The enclosed letter to Sir Reginald Glanville will 
explain my reasons for not keeping my pledge : suffice it 
to state to you, that they are such as wholly to exonorate 
me, and fairly to satisfy Sir Reginald. It will be useless 
to call upon me ; I leave town before you will receive this. 
Respect for myself obliges me to add that, although there 
are circumstances to forbid my meeting Sir Reginald 
Glanville, there are none to prevent my demanding satis- 
faction of any one, whoever he may he , who shall deem 
himself authorized to call my motives into question. 

“ I have the honor, &c. 

John Tyrrell.” 

It was not till I had thrice read this letter that I could 


2S PELHAM; OR, 

credit its contents. From all I had seen of Tyrrell’s charac- 
ter, I had no reason to suspect him to be less courageous 
than the generality of worldly men. And yet, when I con- 
sidered the violent language of Glanville’s letter, and Tyr- 
rell’s apparent resolution the night before, I scarcely knew 
to what more honorable motive than the want of courage to 
attribute his conduct. However, I lost no time in despatch- 
ing the whole packet to Glanville, with a few lines from 
myself, saying I would call in an hour. 

When I fulfilled this promise, Glanville’s servant told 
me his master had gone out immediately on reading the 
letters I had sent, and had merely left word that he should 
not return home the whole day. That night he was to 
have brought an important motion before the House. A 
message from him, pleading sudden and alarming illness, 
devolved this duty upon another member of his party. 
Lord Dawton was in despair ; the motion was lost by a 
great majority ; the papers, the whole of that week, were 
filled with the most triumphant abuse and ridicule of the 
Whigs. Never was that unhappy and persecuted party 
reduced to so low an ebb : never did there seem a fainter 
probability of their coming into power. They appeared 
almost annihilated — a mere nominis umbra. 

On the eighth day from Glanville’s disappearance, a 
sudden event in the cabinet threw the whole country into 
confusion ; the Tories trembled to the very soles of their 
easy slippers of sinecure and office ; the eyes of the public 
were turned to the Whigs ; and chance seemed to effect 
in an instant that change in their favor which all their toil, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


29 


trouble, eloquence, and art, bad been unable for so many 
years to render even a remote probability. 

But there was a strong though secret party in the state 
that, concealed under a general name, worked only for a 
private end, and made a progress in number and respec- 
tability, not the less sure for being but little suspected 
Foremost among the leaders of this party was Lord Vin- 
cent. Dawton, who regarded them with fear and jealousy, 
considered the struggle rather between them and himself, 
than any longer between himself and the Tories; 
strove, while it was yet time, to reinforce himself by a 
body of allies, which, should the contest really take place, 
might be certain of giving him the superiority. The 
Marquis of Chester was among the most powerful of the 
neutral noblemen : it was of the greatest importance to 
gain him to the cause. He was a sturdy, sporting, inde- 
pendent man, who lived chiefly in the country, and turned 
his ambition rather towards promoting the excellence of 
quadrupeds, than the bad passions of men. To this per- 
sonage Lord Dawton implored me to he the bearer of a 
letter, and to aid, with all the dexterity in my power, the 
purpose it was intended to effect. It was the most 
consequential mission yet intrusted to me, and I felt eager 
to turn my diplomatic energies to so good an account. 
According^, ^ne bright morning I wrapped myself care- 
fully in my cloak, placed my invaluable person safely in 
my carriage, and set off to Chester Park, in the county 
of Suffolk. 

3 * 


30 


PELHAMJ OR, 


CHAPTER L X I. 

Hinc canibus blandis rabies venit. — Virgil, Georg. 

I should have mentioned, that the day after I sent to 
Glanville Tyrrell’s communication, I received a short and 
hurried note from the former, saying, that he had left 
London in pursuit of Tyrrell, and that he would not rest 
till he had brought him to account. In the hurry of the 
public events in which I had been of late so actively en- 
gaged, my mind had not had leisure to dwell much upon 
Glanville ; but when I was alone in my carriage, that 
singular being, and the mystery which attended him, forced 
themselves upon my reflection, in spite of all the importance 
of my mission. 

I was leaning back in my carriage, at (I think) Ware, 
while they were changing horses, when a voice, strongly 
associated with my meditations, struck upon my ear. I 
looked out, and saw Thornton standing in the yard, attired 
with all his original smartness of boot and breeches : he 
was employed in smoking a cigar, sipping brandy and 
water, and exercising his conversational talents in a mixture 
of slang and jockeyism, addressed to two or three men of his 
own rank of life, and seemingly his companions. His brisk 
eye soon discovered me, and he swaggered to the carriage 
door with that ineffable assurance of manner which was so 
peculiarly his own. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


3 ! 


“Ah, ah, Mr. Pelham,” said he, “going to Newmarket, 

I suppose ? bound there myself — like to be found among 
my betters. Ha, ha — excuse a pun: what odds on the 
favorite ? What, you won’t bet, Mr. Pelham ? close and 
sly at present ; well, the silent sow sups up all the broth 
— eh ! — ” 

“ I’m not going to Newmarket,” I replied : “ I never 
attend races.” 

“Indeed!” answered Thornton. “Well, if I was as 
rich as you, I would soon make or spend a fortune on the 
course. Seen Sir John Tyrrell ? No ! He is to be there. 
Nothing can cure him of gambling — what’s bred in the 
bone, &c. Good day, Mr. Pelham — won’t keep you any 
longer — sharp shower coming on. ‘The devil will soon 
be basting his wife with a leg of mutton,’ as the proverb 
says : — servant, Mr. Pelham.” 

And at these words my post-boy started, and released 
me from my bete noire. I spare my reader an account of 
my miscellaneous reflections on Thornton, Dawton, Vin- 
cent, politics, Glanville, and Ellen , and will land him, 
without further delay, at Chester Park. 

I was ushered through a large oak hall of the reign of 
James the First, into a room strongly resembling the 
principal apartment of a club ; two or three round tables 
were covered with newspapers, journals, racing calendars, ' 
Ac. An enormous fire-place was crowded with men of 
all ages, I had almost said, of all ranks ; but, however 
various they might appear in their mien and attire, they 
were wholly of the patrician order. One thing, however, 


32 


PELHAM; OR, 


in this room, belied its likeness to the apartment of a club, 
viz., a number of clogs, that lay in scattered groups upon 
the floor. Before the windows were several horses, in 
body-cloths, led to exercise upon a plain in the park, 
levelled as smooth as a bowling-green at Putney ; and, 
stationed at an oriel window, in earnest attention to the 
scene without, were two men ; the tallest of these was 
Lord Chester. There was a stiffness and inelegance in 
his address which prepossessed me strongly against him. 
“ Les manieres que Von neglige comme de petites choses, 
sont souvent ce qui fait que les homines decident de vous 
en bien on en maid' * 

I had long since, when I was at the University, been 
introduced to Lord Chester ; but I had quite forgotten 
his person, and he the very circumstance. I said, in a low 
tone, that I was the bearer of a letter of some importance 
from our mutual friend, Lord Dawton, and that I should 
request the honor of a private interview at Lord Chester’s 
first convenience. 

His lordship bowed, with an odd mixture of the civility 
of a jockey and the hauteur of a head groom of the stud, 
and led the way to a small apartment, which I afterwards 
discovered he called his own. (I never could make out, 
by the way, why, in England, the very worst room in 
the house is always appropriated to the master of it, and 
dignified by the appellation of “ the gentleman’s own.”) 

* “ The manners which one neglects as trifles, are often precisely 
that by which men decide on you favorably or the reverse.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


33 


I gave the Newmarket grandee the letter intended for 
him, and quietly seating myself, awaited the result. 

He read it through slowly and silently, and then, taking 
out a huge pocket-book, full of racing bets, horses’ ages, 
jockey opinions, and such like memoranda, he placed it 
with much solemnity among this dignified company, and 
said, with a cold, but would-be courteous air, “ My friend, 
Lord Dawton, says you are entirely in his confidence, 
Mr. Pelham. I hope you will honor me with your com- 
pany at Chester Park for two or three days, during which 
time I shall have leisure to reply to Lord Dawton’s letter. 
Will you take some refreshment ? ” 

I answered the first sentence in the affirmative, and the 
latter in the negative ; and Lord Chester, thinking it 
perfectly unnecessary to trouble himself with any further 
questions or remarks, which the whole jockey club might 
not hear, took me back into the room we had quitted, 
and left me to find, or make, whatever acquaintance I 
could. Pampered and spoiled as I was in the most difficult 
circles of London, I was beyond measure indignant at the 
cavalier demeanor of this rustic thane, who, despite his 
marquisate and his acres, was not less below me in the 
aristocracy of ancient birth, than in that of cultivated 
intellect. I looked round the room, and did not recognize 
a being of my acquaintance : I seemed literally thrown 
into a new world : the very language in which the con- 
versation was held, sounded strange to my ear. I had 
always transgressed my general rule of knowing all men in 
all grades, in the single respect of sporting characters : 


34 


PELHAM; OR, 


they were a species of bipeds that I would never recognize 
as belonging to the human race. Alas ! I now found the 
bitter effects of not following my usual maxims. It is a 
dangerous thing to encourage too great a disdain of one’s 
inferiors : pride must have a fall. 

After I had been a whole quarter of an hour in this 
strange place, my better genius came to my aid. Since I 
found no society among the two-legged brutes, I turned 
to the quadrupeds. At one corner of the room lay a black 
terrier of the true English breed ; at another was a short, 
sturdy, wiry one, of the Scotch. I soon formed a friend- 
ship with each of these canine Pelei, (little bodies with 
great souls), and then by degrees alluring them from their 
retreat to the centre of the room, I fairly endeavored to 
set them by the ears. Thanks to the national antipathy, 
I succeeded to my heart’s content. The contest soon 
aroused the other individuals of the genus — up they 
started from their repose, like Roderic Dhu’s merry men, 
and incontinently flocked to the scene of battle. The 
example became contagious. In a very few moments, the 
whole room was a scene of uproarious confusion ; the 
beasts yelled, and bit, and struggled with the most delect- 
able ferocity. To add to the effect, the various owners 
of the dogs crowded round — some to stimulate, others 
to appease, the fury of the combatants. At length, the 
conflict was assuaged. By dint of blows, and kicks, and 
remonstrances from their dignified proprietors, the dogs 
slowly withdrew, one with the loss of half an ear, another 
with a mouth increased by one-half of its natural dimen- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


35 


sions, and, in short, every one of the combatants with some 
token of the severity of the conflict. I did not wait for 
the thunder-storm I foresaw in the inquiry as to the origin 
of the war: I rose with a nonchalant yawn of eTinui, 
marched out of the apartment, called a servant, demanded 
my own room, repaired to it, and immersed the internal 
faculties of my head in Mignet’s History of the Revolution, 
while Bedos busied himself in its outward embellishment. 


CHAPTER L X 1 1. 

Noster ludos, spectaverat una, 

Luserat in campo, Fortunae filius, oranes. — Hok. 

I did not leave my room till the first dinner-bell had 
ceased a sufficient time to allow me the pleasing hope that 
I should have but a few moments to wait in the drawing- 
room, previously to the grand epoch and ceremony of an 
European day. The manner most natural to me, is one 
rather open and easy ; but I pique myself peculiarly upon 
a certain (though occasional) air which keeps impertinence 
aloof. This day I assumed a double quantum of dignity, 
in entering a room which I well knew would not be filled 
with my admirers ; there were a few women around Lady 
Chester, and, as I always feel reassured by a sight of the 
dear sex, I walked towards them. 

Judge of my delight, when I discovered, amongst the 
group, Lady Harriet Garrett. It is true that I had no 


36 


PELHAM; OR, 

particular predilection for that lady ; but the sight of a 
negress I had seen before, I should have hailed with rap- 
ture in so desolate and inhospitable a place. If my plea- 
sure at seeing Lady Harriet was great, her’s seemed equally 
s) at receiving my salutation. She asked me if I knew 
Lady Chester — and on my negative reply, immediately 
introduced me to that personage. I now found myself 
quite at home ; my spirits rose, and I exerted every nerve 
to be as charming as possible. — In youth, to endeavor is 
to succeed. 

I gave a most animated account of the canine battle, 
interspersed with various sarcasms on the owners of the 
combatants, which were by no means ill-received either 
by the marchioness or her companions ; and, in fact, when 
the dinner was announced, they all rose in a mirth suffi- 
ciently unrestrained to be anything but partician : for my 
part, I offered my arm to Lady Harriet, and paid her as 
. many compliments on crossing the suite that led to the 
dining-room, as would have turned a much wiser head than 
her ladyship’s. 

The dinner went off agreeably enough, as long as the 
women stayed, but the moment they quitted the room, I 
experienced exactly the same feeling known unto a mother’s 
darling, left for the first time at that strange, cold, com- 
fortless place — ycleped a school. 

I was not, however, in a mood to suffer my flowers of 
oratory to blush unseen. Besides, it was absolutely neces- 
sary that I should make a better impression upon my host. 
I leant, therefore, across the table, and listened eagerly 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN, 


31 


to the various conversations afloat : at last I perceived on 
the opposite side Sir Lionel Garrett, a personage whom 
I had not before even inquired after, or thought of. He 
was busily and noisily employed in discussing the game- 
law r s. Thank Heaven, thought I, I shall be on firm ground 
there. The general interest of the subject, and the loud- 
ness with which it was debated, soon drew all the scattered 
conversation into one focus. 

“ What 1 ” said Sir Lionel, in a high voice, to a modest, 
shrinking youth, probably from Cambridge, w r ho had sup- 
ported the liberal side of the question — “ what ! are our 
interests to be never consulted ? Are v r e to have our only 
amusement taken away from us? What do you imagine 
brings country gentlemen to their seats ? Do you not 
know, sir, the vast importance our residence at our country 
bouses is to the nation ? Destroy the game-laws, and you 
destroy our very existence as a people ! ” 

"Now.,” thought I, "it is my time.” "Sir Lionel,” 
said I, speaking almost from one end of the table to the 
other, " I perfectly agree with your sentiments ; I am 
entirely of opinion, first, that it is absolutely necessary for 
the safety of the nation that game should be preserved ; 
secondly, that if you take away game you take country 
gentlemen : no tw r o propositions can be clearer than these ; 
but I do differ from you with respect to the intended 
alterations. Let us put wholly out the question, the inte- 
rests of the poor people, or of society at large : those are 
minor matters, not v r orthy of a moment’s consideration ; 
lot us only see how far our interests as sportsmen will be 
II. — 4 


38 


PELHAM; OR, 


affected. I think by a very few words I can clearly prove 
to you, that the proposed alterations will make us much 
better off than we are at present.” 

I then entered shortly, yet fully enough, into the nature 
of the laws as they now stood, and as they were intended 
to be changed. I first spoke of the two great disadvan- 
tages of the present system to country gentlemen ; viz. in 
the number of poachers, and the expense of preserving. 
Observing that I was generally and attentively listened 
to, I dwelt upon these two points with much pathetic 
energy; and having paused till I had got Sir Lionel and 
* one or two of his supporters to confess that it would be 
highly desirable that these defects should, if possible, be 
remedied, I proceeded to show how, and in what manner 
it was possible. I argued, that to effect this possibility 
was the exact object of the alterations suggested ; I anti- 
cipated the objections ; I answered them in the form of 
propositions as clearly and concisely stated as possible ; 
and as I spoke with great civility and conciliation, and 
put aside every appearance of care for any human being 
in the world who was not possessed of a qualification, I 
perceived at the conclusion of my harangue that I had 
made a very favorable impression. That evening com- 
pleted my triumph : for Lady Chester and Lady Harriet 
made so good a story of my adventure with the dogs, that 
the matter passed off as a famous joke, and T was soon 
considered by the whole knot as a devilish amusing, good- 
natured, sensible fellow. So true is it that there is no 
situation which a little tact cannot turn to our own 


ADVENTURES OE A GENTLEMAN. 3$ 

account : manage yourself well, and you may manage all 
the world. 

As for Lord Chester, I soon won his heart by a few 
feats of horsemanship, and a few extempore inventions 
respecting the sagacity of dogs. Three days after my 
arrival, we became inseparable ; and I made such good 
use of my time, that in two more, he spoke to me of his 
friendship for Dawton, and his wish for a dukedom. These 
motives it was easy enough to unite, and at last he pro- 
mised me that his answer to my principal should be as 
acquiescent as I could desire ; the morning after this 
promise commenced the great day at Newmarket. 

Our whole party were of course bound to the race- 
ground, and with great reluctance I was pressed into the 
service. We were not many miles distant from the course, 
and Lord Chester mounted me on one of his horses. Our 
shortest way lay through rather an intricate series of cross 
roads : and as I was very little interested in the conversa- 
tion of my companions, I paid more attention to the 
scenery we passed, than is my customary wont : for I study 
Nature rather in men than fields, and find no landscape 
alford such variety to the eye, and such subject to the 
contemplation, as the inequalities of the human heart. 

But there were to be fearful circumstances hereafter, to 

stamp forcibly upon my remembrance some traces of the 

scenery which now courted and arrested ray view. The 

chief characteristics of the country were broad, dreary 

plains, diversified at times by dark plantations of fir and 

lwch \ the road was rough and stony, and here and there 

2a 


40 


PELHAM; OR, 


a melancholy rivulet, swelled by the first rains of spring, 
crossed our path, and lost itself in the rank weeds of some 
inhospitable marsh. 

About six miles from Chester Park, to the left of the 
road, stood an old house with a new face ; the brown, 
time-honored bricks w r hich composed the fabric, were 
strongly contrasted by large Venetian windows newly 
inserted in frames of the most ostentatious white. A 
smart, green veranda, scarcely finished, ran along the low 
portico, and formed the termination to two thin rows of 
meagre and dwarfish sycamores, which did duty for an 
avenue, and were bounded on the roadside by a spruce 
white gate, and a sprucer lodge, so moderate in its dimen- 
sions, that it would scarcely have boiled a turnip ! — if a 
rat had got into it, he might have run away with it ! 
The ground was dug in various places, as if for the purpose 
of further improvements , and here and there a sickly little 
tree was carefully hurdled round, and seemed pining its 
puny heart out at the confinement. 

In spite of all these w T ell-judged and w r ell-thriving graces 
of art, there was such a comfortless and desolate appear- 
ance about the place, that it quite froze one to look at it ; 
to be sure, a damp marsh on one side, and the skeleton 
rafters and beams of an old stable on the other, backed 
by a few dull and sulky-looking fir-trees, might in some 
measure create, or at least considerably add to, the inde- 
scribable cheerlessness of the tout ensemble. While I w r as 
curiously surveying the various parts of this northern “ Be- 
lices and marvelling at the choice of two crow's who 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 4l 

were slowly walking over the unwholesome ground, instead 
of making all possible use of the black wings with which 
Providence had gifted them, I perceived two men on 
horseback wind round from the back part of the building, 
and proceed in a brisk trot down the avenue. We had 
not advanced many paces before they overtook us ; the 
foremost of them turned round as he passed me, and 
pulling up his horse abruptly, discovered to my dismayed 
view the features of Mr. Thornton. Nothing abashed by 
the slightness of my bow, or the grave stares of my lordly 
companions, who never forgot the dignity of their birth, 
in spite of the vulgarity of their tastes, Thornton instantly 
and familiarly accosted me. 

“Told you so, Mr. Pelham — silent sow , &c. — Sure I 
should have the pleasure of seeing you, though you kept 
it so snug. Well, will you bet now? No ! — Ah, you’re 
a sly one. Staying here at that nice-looking house — ■ 
belongs to Dawson, an old friend of mine — shall be happy 
to introduce you ! ” 

“Sir,” said I, abruptly, “you are too good. Permit 
me to request that you will rejoin your friend Mr. Dawson.” 

“ Oh,” said the imperturbable Thornton, “it does not 
signify ; he won’t be affronted at my lagging a little. 
However,” (and here he caught my eye, which was assum- 
ing a sternness that perhaps little pleased him,) “ however, 
as it gets late, and my mare is none of the best, I’ll wish 
you good morning.” With these words Thornton put spurs 
to his horse and trotted off. 

4 * 


PELHAM; OR, 


42 

(t Who the devil have you got there, Pelham ? ” said 
Lord Chester. 

“A person,” said I, “ who picked me up at Paris, and 
insists on the right of ‘treasure trove’ to claim me in 
England. But will you let me ask, in my turn, whom that 
cheerful mansion we have just left, belongs to ? ” 

“ To a Mr. Dawson, whose father was a gentleman 
farmer who bred horses, a very respectable person, — for 
I made one or two excellent bargains with him. The son 
was always on the turf and contracted the worst of its 
habits. He bears but a very indifferent character, and 
will probably become a complete blackleg. He married, 
a short time since, a woman of some fortune, and I sup- 
pose it is her taste which has so altered and modernized 
his house. Come, gentlemen, we are on even ground — 
shall we trot ? ” 

We proceeded but a few yards before we were again 
stopped by a precipitous ascent, and as Lord Chester was 
then earnestly engaged in praising his horse to one of the 
cavalcade, I had time to remark the spot. At the foot 
of the hill we were about slowly to ascend, was a broad, 
unenclosed patoh of waste land ; a heron, flapping its 
enormous wings as it rose, directed my attention to a pool 
overgrown with rushes, and half-sheltered on one side by 
a decayed tree, which, if one might judge from the breadth 
and hollowness of its trunk, had been a refuge to the wild 
bird, and a shelter to the wild cattle, at a time when such 
were the only intruders upon its hospitality ; and when 
the country, for miles and leagues round, was honored by 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


43 


as little of man’s care and cultivation as was at present 
the rank waste which still nourished the gnarled and 
venerable roots of that single tree. There was something 
remarkably singular and grotesque in the shape and 
sinuosity of its naked and spectral branches ; two of ex- 
ceeding length stretched themselves forth, in the very 
semblance of arms held out in the attitude of supplication : 
and the bend of the trunk over the desolate pond, the 
form of the hoary and blasted summit, and the hollow 
trunk half riven asunder in the shape of limbs, seemed to 
favor the gigantic deception. You might have imagined 
it an antediluvian transformation, or a daughter of the 
Titan race, preserving, in her metamorphosis, her attitude 
of entreaty to the merciless Olympian. 

This was the only tree visible ; for a turn of the road, 
and the unevenness of the ground, completely veiled the 
house we had passed, and the few low firs and sycamores 
which made its only plantations. The sullen pool — its 
ghost-like guardian — the dreary heath around, the rude 
features of the country beyond, and the apparent absence 
of all human habitation, conspired to make a scene of the 
most dispirting and striking desolation. I know not 
how to account for it, but, as I gazed around in silence, 
the whole place appeared to grow over my mind, as one 
which I had seen, though dimly and drearily, as in a 
dream, before ; and a nameless and unaccountable presen- 
timent of fear and evil sank like ice into ray heart. We 
ascended the hill, and, the rest of the road being of a kind 


s 


i4 


peliiam; OR, 


bettter adapted to expedition, we mended our pace and 
soon arrived at the goal of our journey. 

The race-ground had its customary complement of 
knaves and fools — the dupers and the duped. Poor Lady 
Chester, who had proceeded to the ground by the high 
road (for the way we had chosen was inaccessible to those 
who ride in chariots, and whose charioteers are set up in 
high places,) was driving to and fro, the very picture of 
cold and discomfort ; and the few solitary carriages which 
honored the course, looked as miserable as if they were 
witnessing the funeral of their owners’ persons, rather 
than the peril of their characters and purses. 

As we rode along the betting-post, Sir John Tyrrell 
passed us : Lord Chester accosted him familiarly, and the 

baronet joined us. He had been a votary of the turf 

» 

in his younger days, and he still preserved all his ancient 
predilection in its favor. • 

It seemed that Chester had not met him for many years, 
and after a short and characteristic conversation of “ God 
bless me, how long since I saw you ! — good horse you’re 
on; — look thin; — admirable condition; — what have 
you been doing? — grand action ; — a’n’t we behindhand ? 
— famous fore-hand ; — recollect old Queensbury ? — hot 
in the mouth ; — gone to the devil ; — what are the odds ? ” 
Lord Chester asked Tyrrell to go home with us. The 
invitation was readily accepted. 

“With impotence of will 
We wheel, though ghastlj T shadows interpose 
Round us, and round each other.”* 


% 


^Shelley. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


45 


Now, then, arose the noise, the clatter, the swearing, 
the lying, the perjury, the cheating, the crowd, the bustle, 
the hurry, the rush, the heat, the ardor, the impatience, 
the hope, the terror, the rapture, the agony of the race. 
The instant the first heat was over, one asked me one 
thing, one bellowed another ; I fled to Lord Chester : he 
did not heed me. I took refuge with the marchioness ; 
she was as sullen as an east wind could make her. Lady 
Harriet would talk of nothing but the horses : Sir Lionel 
would not talk at all. I was in the lowest pit of despond- 
ency, and the devils that kept me there were as blue as 
Lady Chester’s nose. Silent, sad, sorrowful, and sulky, 
I rode away from the crowd, and moralized on its vicious 
propensities. One grows marvellously honest when the 
species of cheating before us is not suited to one’s self. 
Fortunately, my better angel reminded me, that about the 
distance of three miles from the course lived an old college 
friend, blessed, since we had met, with a parsonage and a 
wife. I knew his tastes too well to imagine that any 
allurement of an equestrian nature could have seduced 
him from the ease of his library and the dignity of his 
books ; and hoping, therefore, that I should find him at 
home, turned my horse’s head in an opposite direction, 
and, rejoiced at the idea of my escape, bade adieu to the 
course. 

As I cantered across the far end of the heath, my horse 
started from an object upon the ground ; it was a man 
wrapped from head to foot in a long horseman’s cloak 
and so web guarded as to the face, from the raw inclem 


*6 


PELHAM; OR, 

ency of the day, that I could not catch even a glimpse of 
the features, through the hat and neck-shawl which con- 
cealed them. The head was turned, with apparent anxiety, 
towards the distant throng ; and imagining the man 
belonging to the lower orders, with whom I am always 
familiar, I addressed to him, en passant, some trifling 
remark on the event of the race. He made no answer. 
There was something about him which induced me to look 
back several moments after I had left him behind. He 
had not moved an inch. There is such a certain uncom- 
fortableness always occasioned to the mind by stillness 
and mystery united, that even the disguising garb, and 
motionless silence of the man, innocent as I thought they 
must have been, impressed themselves disagreeably on my 
meditations as I rode briskly on. 

It is my maxim never to be unpleasantly employed, even 
in thought, if I can help it; accordingly I changed the 
course of my reflection, and amused myself with wondering 
how matrimony and clerical dignity sat on the indolent 
shoulders of my old acquaintance. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


41 


CHAPTER L X 1 1 1. 

And as for me, tho’ that I can but lite 
On book&s for me to read, I me delight. 

And to hem give I faith and full credence, 

And in mine heart have hem in reverence, 

So heartily that there is gamh none, 

That fro’ my bookes maketh me to gone. — C haucer. 

Christopher Clutterbuck was a common individual 
of a common order, but little known in this busy and 
- toiling world. I cannot flatter myself that I am about to 
present to your notice that rara avis, a new character — 
yet there is something interesting, and even unhackneyed, 
in the retired and simple class to which he belongs : and 
before I proceed to a darker period of my memoirs, I feel 
a calm and tranquillizing pleasure in the rest which a brief 
and imperfect delineation of my college companion affords 
me. My friend came up to the University with the learn- 
ing which one about to quit the world might, with credit, 
have boasted of possessing, and the simplicity which one 
about to enter it would have been ashamed to confess. 
Quiet and shy, in his habits and his manners, he was never 
seen out of the precincts of his apartment, except in 
obedience to the stated calls of dinner, lectures, and 
chapel. Then his small and stooping form might be 
marked, crossing the quadrangle with a hurried step, and 
cautiously avoiding the smallest blade of the barren grass- 


43 


PELHAM; OR, 


plots, which are forbidden ground to the feet of all the 
lower orders of the collegiate oligarchy. Many were the 
smiles and the jeers, from the worse natured and better 
appointed students, who loitered idly along the court, at 
the rude garb and saturnine appearance of the humble 
under-graduate ; and the calm countenance of the grave, 
but amiable man, who then bore the honor and onus of 
mathematical lecturer at our college, would soften into a 
glance of mingled approbation and pity, as he noted the 
eagerness which spoke from the wan cheek and emaciated 
frame of the ablest of his pupils, hurrying — after each 
legitimate interruption — to the enjoyment of the crabbed 
characters and worm-worn volumes, which contained for 
him all the seductions of pleasure, and all the temptations 
of youth. 

It is a melancholy thing, which none but those educated 
at a college can understand, to see the debilitated frames 
of the aspirants for academical honors ; to mark the prime 
— the verdure — the glory — the life — of life wasted 
irrevocably away in a labor ineptiarum, which brings no 
harvest either to others or themselves. For the poet, the 
philosopher, the man of science, we can appreciate the 
recompense if we commiserate the sacrifice ; from the 
darkness of their retreat there goes a light — from the 
silence of their studies there issues a voice, — to illumine^ 
or convince. We can imagine them looking from their 
privations to the far visions of the future, and hugging to 
their hearts, in the strength of no unnatural vanity, the 
reward which their labors are certain hereafter to obtain. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


49 


To those who can anticipate the vast dominions of im- 
mortality among men, what boots the sterility of the 
cabined and petty p resen t ? But the mere man of lan- 
guages and learning — the machine of a memory heavily 
but unprofitably employed — the Columbus wasting at 
the galley oar the energies which should have discovered 
a world — for him there is no day-dream of the future, no 
grasp at the immortality of fame. Beyond the walls of 
his narrow room he knows no object ; beyond the eluci- 
dation of a dead tongue he indulges no ambition ; his life 
is one long school-day of lexicons and grammars — a 
Fabric of Ice, cautiously excluded from a single sun- 
beam — elaborately useless, ingeniously unprofitable ; and 
leaving, at the moment it melts away, not a single trace 
of the space it occupied, or the labor it cost. 

At the time I went to the University, my poor collegian 
had attained all the honors his employment could ever 
procure him. He had been a Pitt scholar ; he was a senior 
wrangler, and a Fellow of his college. It often happened 
that I found myself next to him at dinner, and I was struck 
by his abstinence, and pleased with his modesty, despite 
the gaucherie of his manner, and the fashion of his garb. 
By degrees I insinuated myself into his acquaintance ; and 
as I had always some love of scholastic lore, I took 
frequent opportunities of conversing with him upon 
H orace, and consulting him upon Lucian. 

Many a dim twilight have we sat together, reviving 
each other’s recollection, and occasionally relaxing into 
ihe grave amusement of capping verses. Then, if by any 
II. —5 


56 


PELHAM; OR. 

chance my ingenuity or memory enabled me to puzzle my 
companion, his good temper would lose itself in a quaint 
pettishness, or he would hurl against me some line of 
Aristophanes, and ask me, with a raised voice, and arched 
brow, to give him a fitting answer to that. But if, as was 
much more frequently the case, he fairly ran me down 
into a pause and confession of inability, he would rub his 
hands with a strange chuckle, and offer me, in the boun- 
teousness of his heart, to read aloud a Greek Ode of his 
own, while he treated me “to a dish of tea.” There was 
much in the good man’s innocence, and guilelessness of soul, 
which made me love him, and I did not rest till I had 
procured him, before I left the University, the living which 
he now held. Since then, he married the daughter of a 
neighboring clergyman, an event of which he had duly 
informed me ; but, though this great step in the life of “ a 
reading man ” had not taken place many months since, I 
had completely, after a hearty wish for his domestic hap- 
piness, consigned it to a dormant place in my recollection. 

The house which I now began to approach was small, 
but comfortable ; perhaps there was something melancholy 
in the old-fashioned hedges, cut and trimmed with mathe- 
matical precision, which surrounded the glebe, as well as 
in the heavy architecture and dingy bricks of the reverend 
recluse’s habitation. To make amends for this, there was 
also something peculiarly still and placid about the ap- 
pearance of the house, which must have suited well the 
tastes and habits of the owner. A small, formal lawn was 
adorned with a square fish-pond, bricked round, and 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


51 


covered with the green weepings of four willows, which 
drooped over it from their station at each corner. At 
the opposite side of this Pierian reservoir, was a hermitage, 
or arbor of laurels, shaped in the stiff rusticity of the 

-w 

Dutch school, in the prevalence of which it was probably 
planted ; behind this arbor, the ground, after a slight 
railing, terminated in an orchard. 

The sound I elicited from the gate bell seemed to ring 
through that retired place with singular shrillness ; and I 
observed at the opposite window, all that bustle of drawing 
curtains, peeping faces, and hasty retreats, which denote 
female anxiety and perplexity, at the unexpected approach 
of a stranger. 

After some time the parson’s single servant, a middle- 
aged, slovenly man, in a loose frock, and grey kerseymere 
nondescripts, opened the gate, and informed me that his 
master was at home. With a few earnest admonitions 
to my admitter — who was, like the domestics of many 
richer men, both groom and valet — respecting the safety 
of my borrowed horse, I entered the house : the servant 
did not think it necessary to inquire my name, but threw 
open the door of the study, with the brief introduction of 
. “A gentleman, sir.” 

Clutterbuck was standing, with his back towards me, 
upon a pair of library steps, turning over some dusky 
volumes ; and below stood a pale, cadaverous youth, with 
a set and serious countenance, that bore no small likeness 
to Clutterbuck himself. 

r Mon Dieu ,” thought I, “he cannot have made such 


52 


PELHAM; OR, 


good use of liis matrimonial state as to have raised this 
lanky impression of himself in the space of seven months ! ” 
The good man turned round, and almost fell off the steps 
with the nervous shock of beholding me so near him ; he 
descended with precipitation, and shook me so warmly 
and tightly by the hand, that he brought tears into my 
eyes, as well as his own. 

“Gently, my good friend,” said I — “ parce, precoj , 
or you will force me to say, ‘ ibimus una ambo, flentes 
valido connexi fcedere.’” 

Clutterbuck’s eyes watered still more, when he heard 
the grateful sounds of what to him was the mother tongue. 
He surveyed me from head to foot with an air of benign 
and fatherly complacency, and dragging forth from its 
sullen rest a large arm-chair, on wdiose cushions of rusty 
horse-hair sat an eternal cloud of classic dust, too sacred 
to be disturbed, he plumped me down upon it, before I 
was aware of the cruel hospitality. 

“ Oh ! my nether garments,” thought I. 11 Quantus sudor 
merit Bedoso, to restore you to your pristine purity ! ” 

“ But whence come you ? ” said my host, who cherished 
rather a formal and antiquated method of speech. 

“ From the Pythian games,” said I ; “ the campus high t 
Newmarket. Do I see right, or is not yon insignis 
juvenis marvellously like you ? Of a surety he rivals the 
Titans, if he is only a seven months’ child ! ” 

“ Now, truly, my worthy friend,” answered Clutterbuck, 
“ you indulge in jesting ! The boy is my nephew, a goodly 
child, and pains-taking I hope he will thrive at our gentle 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


53 


mother. ITe goes to Trinity next October. Benjamin 
Jeremiah, my lad, this is my worthy friend and benefactor, 
of whom I have often spoken ; go, and order him of our 
best — he will partake of our repast!” 

“ No, really,” I began ; but Clutterbuck gently placed 
the hand, whose strength of affection I had already so 
forcibly experienced, upon my mouth. “Pardon me, my 
friend,” said he. “No stranger should depart till he had 
broken bread with us ; how much more than a friend I 
Go, Benjamin Jeremiah, and tell your aunt that Mr. Pel- 
ham will dine with us ; and order, furthermore, that the 
barrel of oysters sent unto us as a present, by my worthy 
friend Dr. Swallow’em, be dressed in the fashion that 
seemeth best ; they are a classic dainty, and we shall think 
of our great masters the ancients whilst we devour them. 
Aud — stop, Benjamin Jeremiah, see that we have the 
wine with the black seal; and — now — go, Benjamin 
Jeremiah ! ” 

“Well, my old friend,” said I, when the door closed 
upon the sallow and smileless nephew, “ how do you love 
the connubial yoke ? Do you give the same advice as 
Socrates ? I hope, at least, it is not from the same ex- 
perience.” 

“ Hem ! ” answered the grave Christopher, in atone that 
struck me as somewhat nervous and uneasy, “ you are 
become quite a humorist since we parted. I suppose yon 
have been warming your wit by the lambent fires of 
Horace and Aristophanes ! ” 

“ No,” said I, “the living allow those whose toilsome 

5 * 


54 PELHAM; OH, 

lot it is to mix constantly with them, but little time to 
study the monuments of the dead. But, in sober earnest, 
are you as happy as I wish you ? ” 

Clutterbuck looked down for a moment, and then, 
turning towards the table, laid one hand upon a manuscript, 
and pointed with the other to his books. “With this 
society,” said he, “how can I be otherwise ? ” 

I gave him no reply, but put my hand upon his manu- 
script. He made a modest and coy effort to detain it, but 
I knew that writers were like women, and, making use of 
no displeasing force, I possessed myself of the paper. 

It was a treatise on the Greek participle. My heart 
sickened within me ; but, as I caught the eager glance of 
the poor author, I brightened up my countenance into an 
expression of pleasure, and appeared to read and comment 
upon the difficiles nugce with an interest commensurate 
to his own. Meanwhile the youth returned. He had 
much of that delicacy of sentiment which always accompa- 
nies mental cultivation, of whatever sort it may be. He 
went, with a scarlet blush over his thin face, to his uncle, 
and whispered something in his ear, which, from the angry 
embarrassment it appeared to occasion, I was at no loss 
to divine. 

" Come,” said I, “ we are too long acquainted for 
ceremony. Your placens uxor, like all ladies in the same 
predicament, thinks your invitation a little unadvised ; 
and, in real earnest, I have so long a ride to perform, 
that I would rather eat your oysters another day 1 ” 

“ No, no,” said Clutterbuck, with greater eagerness 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 55 

than his even temperament was often hurried into betraying 
— “ no, I will go and reason with her myself. 1 Wives, 
obey your husbands,’ saith the preacher ! ” And the 
quondam senior wrangler almost upset his chair in the 
perturbation with which he arose from it. 

I laid my hand upon him. “ Let me go myself,” said I, 
u since you will have me dine with you. * The sex is ever 
to a stranger kind, ’ and I shall probably be more persuasive 
than you, in despite of your legitimate authority.” 

So saying, I left the room, with a curiosity more painful 
than pleasing, to see the collegian’s wife. I arrested the 
man-servant, and ordered him to usher and announce me. 

I was led inslanter into the apartment where I had 
discovered all the signs of female inquisitiveness, which I 
have before detailed. There I discovered a small woman, 
in a robe equally slatternly and fine, with a sharp pointed 
nose, small, cold, grey eyes, and a complexion high towards 
the cheek-bones, but waxing of a light green before it 
reached the wide and querulous mouth, which, well I ween, 
seldom opened to smile upon the unfortunate possessor of 
her charms. She, like the Rev. Christopher, was not 
without her companions ; a tall meagre woman, of ad- 
vanced age, and a girl, some years- younger than herself, 
were introduced to me as her mother and sister. 

My entre occasioned no little confusion, but I knew well 
how to remedy that. I held out my hand so cordially to 
the wife, that I enticed, though with evident reluctance, 
two bony fingers into my own, which I did not dismiss 

without a most mollifying and affectionate squeeze ; and 

2b 


56 


PELHAM; OR, 


drawing my chair close towards her, began conversing aa 
familiarly as if I had known the whole triad for years. I 
declared my joy at seeing my old friend so happily settled 
— commented on the improvement of his looks — ventured 
a sly joke at the good effects of matrimony — praised a 
cat couchant, worked in worsted by the venerable hand of 
the eldest matron — offered to procure her a real cat of 
the true Persian breed, black ears four inches long, with 
a tail like a squirrel’s ; and then slid, all at once, into 
the unauthorized invitation of the good man of the house. 

“ Clutterbuck,” said I, “has asked me very warmly to 
stay dinner ; but, before I accepted his offer, I insisted 
upon coming to see how far it was confirmed by you. 
Gentlemen, you are aware, my dear Madam, know nothing 
of these matters, and I never accept a married man’s in- 
vitation till it has the sanction of his lady ; I have an 
example of that at home. My mother (Lady Frances) 
is the best-tempered woman in the world : but my father 
could no more take the liberty (for I may truly call it 
such) to ask even his oldest friend to dinner, without 
consulting the mistress of the house, than he could think 
of flying. No one (says my mother, and she says what 
is very true), can tell about the household affairs, but 
those who have the management of them ; and in persu- 
ar.ce of this aphorism, I dare not accept any invitation in 
this house, except from its mistress.” 

“Really,” said Mrs. Clutterbuck, coloring, with mingled 
embarrassment and gratification, “you are very consid- 
erate and polite, Mr. Pelham : I only wish Mr. Clutterbuck 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


5 ', 


paid half your attention to these things ; nobody can tell 
the trouble and inconvenience he puts me to. If I had 
known, a little time before, that you were coming — but 
now I fear we have nothing in the house ; but if you can 
partake of our fare, such as it is, Mr. Pelham — ” 

“ Your kindness enchants me,” I exclaimed, “and I no 
longer scruple to confess the pleasure I have in accepting 
my old friend’s offer.” 

This affair being settled, I continued to converse for 
some minutes with as much vivacity as I could summon to 
my aid, and when I went once more to the library, it was 
with the comfortable impression of having left those as 
friends, whom I had visited as foes. 

The dinner hour was four, and, till it came, Clutterbuck 
and I amused ourselves “in commune wise and sage.” 
There was something high in the sentiments and generous 
in the feelings of this man, which made me the more regret 
the bias of mind which rendered them so unavailing. At 
college he had never (illis dissimilis in nostro tempore 
natis!) cringed to the possessors of clerical power. In 
the duties of his station as dean of the college, he was 
equally strict to the black cap and the lordly hat. Nav, 
when one of his private pupils, whose father was possessed 
of more church preferment than any nobleman in the 
peerage, disobeyed his repeated summons, and constantly 
neglected to attend his instructions, he sent for him, re- 
signed his tuition, and refused any longer to accept a 
salary which the negligence of his pupil would not allow 
him to requite. In his clerical tenets he was high : in his 


58 


PELHAM; OR, 


judgment of others lie was mild. His knowledge of the 
liberty of Greece was not drawn from the ignorant histo- 
rian of her Republics ; * nor did he find in the contem- 
plative mildness and gentle philosophy of the ancients, 
nothing but a sanction for modern bigotry and existing 
abuses. 

It was a remarkable trait in his conversation, that 
though he indulged in many references to the old authors, 
and allusions to classic customs, he never deviated into 
the innumerable quotations with which his memory was 
stored. No words, in spite of all the quaintness and an- 
tiquity of his dialect, purely Latin or Greek, ever escaped 
his lips, except in our engagements at capping verses, or 
when he was allured into accepting a challenge of learning 
from some of its pretenders ; then, indeed, he could pour 
forth such a torrent of authorities as effectually silenced 
his opponent; but these contests were rarely entered into, 
and these triumphs moderately indulged. Yet he loved 
the use of quotations in others, and I knew the greatest 
pleasure I could give him was in the frequent use of them. 
Perhaps he thought it would seem like an empty parade 
of learning in one who so confessedly possessed it, to deal 
in the strange words of another tongue, and consequently 
rejected them, while, with an innocent inconsistency, 

* It is really a disgrace to our University, that any of its colleges 
should accept as a reference, or even tolerate as an author the 
presumptuous bigot who has bequeathed to us, in his History of 
Greece, the masterpiece of a declaimer without energy, and of a 
pedant without learning. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


59 


characteristic of the man, it never occurred to him that 
there was any thing, either in the quaintness of his dialect 
or the occupations of his leisure, which might subject him 
to the same imputation of pedantry. 

And yet, at times, when he warmed in his subject, there 
was a tone in his language as well as sentiment, which 
might not be improperly termed eloquent; and the real 
modesty and quiet enthusiasm of his nature, took away, 
from the impression he made, the feeling of pomposity 
and affectation with which otherwise he might have in- 
spired you. 

“ You have a calm and quiet habitation here,” said I ; 
“the very rooks seem to have something lulling in that 
venerable caw which it always does me such good to 
hear.” 

“Yes,” answered Clutterbuck, “ I own that there is 
much that is grateful to the temper of my mind in this 
retired spot. I fancy that I can the better give myself 
up to the contemplation which makes, as it were, my in- 
tellectual element and food. And yet I dare say that in 
this (as in all other things) I do strongly err ; for 1 
remember that during my only sojourn in London, I waa 
wont to feel the sound of wheels and of the throng of steps 
shake the windows of my lodging in the Strand, as if it 
were but a warning to recall my mind more closely to its 
studies : — of a verity that noisy evidence of man’s labor 
reminded me how little the great interests of this rolling 
world were to me, and the feeling of solitude amongst the 
crowds without, made me cling more fondly to the company 


60 


r E L II A M ; OR, 

I found within. For it seems that the mind is ever ad- 
dicted to contraries, and that when it be transplanted into 
a soil where all its neighbors do produce a certain fruit, 
it doth, from a strange perversity, bring forth one of a 
different sort. You would little believe, my hone red 
friend, that in this lonely seclusion, I cannot at all times 
prohibit my thoughts from wandering to that gay world 
of London, which, during my tarry therein, occupied them 
in so partial a degree. You smile, my friend, nevertheless 
it is true ; and when you reflect that I dwelt in the western 
department of the metropolis, near unto the noble mansion 
of Somerset House, and consequently in the very centre of 
what the idle call Fashion, you will not be so surprised 
at the occasional migration of my thoughts.’’ 

Here the worthy Clutterbuck paused and sighed slightly. 
“ Do you farm, or cultivate your garden,” said I ; “they 
are no ignoble nor unclassical employments?” 

“Unhappily,” answered Clutterbuck, “I am inclined to 
neither ; my chest pains me with a sharp and piercing pang 
when I attempt to stoop, and my respiration is short and 
asthmatic ; and, in truth, I seldom love to stir from my 
books and papers. I go with Pliny to his garden, and 
with Yirgil to his farm ; those mental excursions are the 
sole ones I indulge in ; and when I think of my appetit^ 
for application, and my love of idleness, I am tempted to 
wax proud of the propensities which reverse the censure of 
Tacitus on our German ancestors, and incline so fondly to 
quiet, while they turn so restlessly from sloth.” 

Here the speaker was interrupted by a long, low, dry 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


Cl 


cough, which penetrated me to the heart. "Alas ! ” 
thought I, as I heard it, and looked upon my poor friend’s 
hectic and hollow cheek, “ it is not only his mind that will 
be the victim to the fatality of his studies. ” 

It was some moments before I renewed the converse Jen, 
and I had scarcely done so before I was interrupted by 
the entrance of Benjamin Jeremiah, with a message from 
his aunt that dinner would be ready in a few minutes. 
Another long whisper to Christopher sacceeded. The ci- 
devant fellow of Trinity looked down at his garments with 
a perplexed air. I saw at once that he had received a hint 
on the propriety of a change of raiment. To give him due 
leisure for this, I asked the youth to show me a room in 
which I might perform the usual ablutions previous to 
dinner, and followed him up stairs to a comfortless sort 
of dressing-room, without a fire-place, where I found a 
vellow-ware jug and basin, and a towel, of so coarse a 
huckaback, that I did not dare adventure its rough texture 
next my complexion — my skin is not made for such rude 
fellowship. While I was tenderly and daintily anointing 
my hands with some hard water, of no Blandusian spring, 
and that vile composition entitled Windsor soap, I heard 
the difficult breathing of poor Clutterbuck on the stairs, 
and soon after he entered the adjacent room. Two minutes 
more, and his servant joined him, for I heard the rough 
voice of the domestic say, "There is no more of the wine 
with the black seal left, sir ! ” 

" No more, good Dixon ? you mistake grievously. I 
had two dozen not a week since.” 

II. — fi 


C2 


PELHAM; OR, 


•‘Don’t know. Pm sure, sir!” answered Dixon, with a 
careless and half-impertinent accent ; “ but there are great 
things, like alligators, in the cellar, which break all the 
bottles ! ” 

“Alligators in my cellar ! ” said the astonished Clutter- 
buck. 

“ Yes, sir — at least a venomous sort of reptile like them, 
which the people about here call efts!” 

“What!” said Clutterbuck, innocently, and evidently 
not seeing the irony of his own question ; “ What ! have 
the efts broken two dozen bottles in a week ? Of an ex- 
ceeding surety, it is strange that a little creature of the 
lizard species should be so destructive — perchance they 
have an antipathy to the vinous smell ; I will confer with 
my learned friend, Dr. Dissectall, touching their strength 
and habits. Bring up some of the port, then, good Dixon.” 

“ Yes, sir. All the corn is out ; I had none for the gen- 
tleman’s horse.” 

“Why, Dixon, my memory fails me strangely, or I paid 
you the sum of four pounds odd shillings for corn on Friday 
last.” 

“Yes, sir : but your cow and the chickens eat so much ; 
and then blind Dobbin has four feeds a-day, and Farmer 
Johnson always puts his horse in our stable, and Mrs. 
Clutterbuck and the ladies fed the jackass the other day 
in the hired donkey-chaise ; besides, the rats and mice are 
always at it.” 

“ It is a marvel unto me,” answered Clutterbuck, “ how 
detrimental the vermin race are ; they seem to have noted 


ADVENTURES OE A GENTLEMAN. G3 

my poor possessions as their especial prey ; remind me 
that I write to Dr. Dissectall to-morrow, good Dixon.'’ 

“ Yes, sir ; and now I think of it — ” But here Mr. Dixon 
v as cut short in his items, by the entrance of a third per 
son, who proved to be Mrs. Clutterbuck. 

“What, not dressed yet, Mr. Clutterbuck ! what a daw- 
dler you are! — and do look — was ever a woman sc 
used ? You have wiped your razor upon my nightcap — 
you dirty, slovenly ” 

“ I crave you many pardons ; I own my error ! ” said 
Clutterbuck, in a nervous tone of interruption. 

“Error, indeed!” cried Mrs. Clutterbuck, in a sharp, 
overstretched, querulous falsetto, suited to the occasion : 
“but this is always the case — I am sure rny poor temper 
is tried to the utmost — and Lord help thee, idiot! yon 
have thrust those spindle legs of yours into your coat- 
sleeves instead of your breeches ! ” 

“ Of a truth, good wife, your eyes are more discerning 
than mine ; and my legs, which are, as you say, somewhat 
thin, have indued themselves in what appertained not unto 
them ; but for all that, Dorthea, I am not deserving of the 
epithet of idiot, with which you have been pleased to favor 
me ; although my humble faculties are, indeed, of no em- 
inent or surpassing order — ” 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! Mr. Clutterbuck, I am sure, I don’t know 
what else you are, muddling your head all day with those 
good-for-nothing books. And now do tell me, how you 
could think of asking Mr. Pelham to dinner, when you 
knew we had nothing in the world but hashed mutton and 


64 


PELHAM; OR, 


an apple-pudding ? Is that the way, sir, you disgrace 
your wife, after her condescension in marrying you ? ” 
“Really,” answered the patient Clutterbuck, “I was 
forgetful of those matters ; but my friend cares as little 
as myself about the grosser tastes of the table ; and the 
feast of intellectual converse is all that he desires in his 
brief sojourn beneath our roof.” 

“ Feast of fiddlesticks, Mr. Clutterbuck ! did ever man 
talk such nonsense ? ” 

“Besides,” rejoined the master of the house, unheeding 
this interruption, “ we have a luxury even of the palate, 
than which there are none more delicate, and unto which 
he, as well as myself, is, I know, somewhat unpliilosophi- 
cally given ; I speak of the oysters, sent here by our good 
friend Dr. Swallow’em.” 

“ What do you mean, Mr. Clutterbuck ? My poor mother 
and I had those oysters last night for our supper. I am 
sure she, and my sister, are almost starved ; but you are 
always wanting to be pampered up above us all.” 
“Nay, nay,” answered Clutterbuck, “you know you 
accuse me wrongfully, Dorothea ; but now I think of it. 
would it not be better to modulate the tone of our con- 
versation, seeing that our guest (a circumstance which 
until now quite escaped my recollection) was shown into 
the next room, for the purpose of washing his hands, the 
which, from their notable cleanliness, seemed to me wholly 
unnecessary. I would not have him overhear you, Doro- 
thea, lest his kind heart should imagine me less happy than 
- — than — it wishes me ! ” 




ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. G5 

“ Good God, Mr. Clutterbuck ! ” were the only words 
I heard farther : and with tears in my eyes, and a suffoca- 
ting feeling in my throat, for the matrimonial situation of 
my unfortunate friend, I descended into the drawing-room. 
The only one yet there was the pale nephew : he was 
bending painfully over a book ; I took it from him ; it 
was “Bentley upon Phalaris.” I could scarcely refrain 
from throwing it into the fire — “another victim ! ” thought 
I. — Oh, the curse of an English education ! 

By and by, down came the mother and the sister, then 
Clutterbuck, and lastly, bedizened out with gewgaws and 
trumpery, — the wife. Born and nurtured as I was in the 
art of the volto sciollo, pensieri stretti* I had seldom 
found a more arduous task of dissimulation than that which 
I experienced now. However, the hope to benefit my 
friend’s situation assisted me : the best way, I thought, of 
obtaining him more respect from his wife, will be by showing 
her the respect he meets with from others : accordingly, I 
sat down by her, and having first conciliated her attention 
by some of that coin, termed compliments, in which there is 
no counterfeit that does not have the universal effect of 
real, I spoke with the most profound veneration of the 
talents and learning of Clutterbuck — I dilated upon the 
high reputation he enjoyed — upon the general esteem in 
which he was held — upon the kindness of his heart — the 
sincerity of his modesty — the integrity of his honor — in 
short, whatever I thought likely to affect her ; most of all, 
T insisted upon the high panegyrics bestowed upon him 


6 * 


* The open countenance and closed thoughts. 


0(i PELHAM; OR, 

by Lo**d this, and the Earl that, and wound up, with 
adding that I was certain he would die a bishop. My 
eloquence had its effect ; all dinner-time, Mrs. Clutterbuck 
treated her husband with even striking consideration : my 
words seemed to have gifted her with a new light, and to 
have wrought a thorough transformation in her view of 
her lord and master’s character. Who knows not the truth, 
that we have dim and short-sighted eyes to estimate the 
nature of our own kin, and that we borrow the spectacles 
which alone enable us to discern their merits or their 
failings from the opinion of strangers ! It may be readily 
supposed that the dinner did not pass without its share of 
the ludicrous — that the waiter and the dishes, the family 
and the host, would have afforded ample materials no less 
for the student of nature in Hogarth, than of caricature 

in Bunbury ; but I was too seriously occupied in pursuing 

* 

my object, and marking its success, to have time even for 
a smile. Ah ! if ever you would allure your son to diplo- 
macy, show him how subservient he may make it to be- 
nevolence. 

When the women had retired, we drew our chairs near 
to each other, and, laying down my watch on the table, 
as I looked out upon the declining day, I said, “ Let us 
make the best of our time ; I can only linger here one 
half-hour longer.” 

“ And how, my friend,” said Clutterbuck, “shall we 
learn the method of making the best use of time ? there , 
whether it be in the larger segments, or the petty subdi- 
visions of our life, rests the great enigma of our being. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN Gt 

Who is there that has ever exclaimed — (pardon my 
pedantry, I am for once driven into Greek) — Eureka! 
to this most difficult of the sciences ? ” 

“ Come,” said I, “it is not for you, the favored scholar 
— the honored academician — whose hours are never idly 
employed, to ask this question ! ” 

‘ Your friendship makes too flattering the acumen of 
your judgment,” answered the modest Clutterbuck. “It 
has indeed been my lot to cultivate the fields of truth, 
as transmitted unto our hands by the wise men of old ; 
and I have much to be thankful for, that I have, in the 
employ, been neither curtailed in my leisure, nor abashed 
in my independence — the two great goods of a calm 
and meditative mind: yet are there moments in which I 
am led to doubt of the wisdom of my pursuits ; and when, 
with a feverish and shaking hand, I put aside the books 
which have detained me from my rest till the morning 
hour, and repair unto a couch often baffled of slumber by 
the pains and discomforts of this worn and feeble frame, 
I almost wish I could purchase the rude health of the 
peasant by the exchange of an idle and imperfect learning 
for the ignorance, content with the narrow world it pos- 
sesses, because unconscious of the limitless creation beyond. 
Yet, my dear and esteemed friend, there is a dignified and 
tranquillizing philosophy in the writings of the ancients 
which ought to teach me a better condition of mind ; and 
when I have risen from the lofty, albeit, somewhat melan- 
choly strain, which swells through the essays of the graceful 
and tender Cicero, I have indeed felt a momentary satis- 


PELIIAM; OR, 


68 

faction at my studies, and an elation even at the petty 
success with which I have cherished them. But these are 
brief and fleeting moments, and deserve chastisement for 
their pride. There is one thing, my Pelham, which has 
grieved me bitterly of late, and that is, that in the earnest 
attention which it is the — perhaps fastidious — custom 
of our University, to pay to the minutiae of classic lore, 
I do now oftentimes lose the spirit and beauty of the 
general bearing ; nay, I derive a far greater pleasure from 
the ingenious amendment of a perverted text, than from 
all the turn and thought of the sense itself : while I am 
straightening a crooked nail in the wine-cask, I suffer the 
wine to evaporate ; but to this I am somewhat reconciled, 
when I reflect that it was also the misfortune of the great 
Porson, and the elaborate Parr, men with whom I blush 
to find mvself included in the same sentence.” 

•j 

“My friend,” said I, “I wish neither to wound your 
modesty, nor to impugn your pursuits ; but think you not 
it would be better, both for men and for yourself, if, while 
you are yet in the vigor of your age and reason, you 
occupy your ingenuity and application in some more useful 
and lofty work, than that which you suffered me to glance 
at in your library ; and, moreover, as the great object of 
him who would perfect his mind, is first to strengthen the 
faculties of his body, would it not be prudent in you to 
lessen for a time your devotion to books ; to exercise 
yourself in the fresh air — to relax the bow, by loosing 
the string ; to mix more with the living, and impart to 
men in conversation, as well as in writing, whatever the 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 60 

incessant labor of many years may have hoarded ? Come, 
if not to town, at least to its vicinity ; the profits of your 
living, if even tolerably managed, will enable you to do so 
without inconvenience. Leave your books to their shelves, 
and your flock to their curate, and — you shake your 
Lead — do I displease you?” 

“No, no, my kind and generous adviser; — but as tli6 
twig was set, the tree must grow. I have not been without 
that ambition which, however vain and sinful, is the first 
passion to enter the wayward and tossing vessel of our 
soul, and the last to leave its stranded and shattered 
wreck ; but mine found and attained its object at an age 
when in others it is, as yet, a vague and unsettled feeling ; 
and it feeds now rather upon the recollections of what has 
been, than ventures forward on a sea of untried and 
strange expectation. As for my studies ! how can you, who 
have, and in no moderate draught, drunk of the old stream 
of Castaly, — how can you ask me now to change them? 
Are not the ancients my food, my aliment, my solace in 
sorrow — my sympathizers, my very benefactors, in joy? 
Take them away from me, and you take away the very 
winds which purify and give motion to the obscure and 
silent current of my life. Besides, ray Pelham, it cannot 
have escaped your observation, that there is little in my 
present state which promises a long increase of days : the 
few that remain to me must glide away like their prede- 
cessors ; and whatever be the infirmities of my body, and 
the little harassments which, I am led to suspect, do 
occasionally molest the most fortunate, who link them- 


70 


PELHAM; OR, 


selves unto the unstable and fluctuating part of creation, 
which we term women, more especially in an hymeneal 
capacity — whatever these may be, I have my refuge and 
my comforter in the golden-souled and dreaming Plato, 
and the sententious wisdom of the less imaginative Seneca. 
Nor, when I am reminded of my approaching dissolution 
by the symptoms which do mostly at the midnight hour 
press themselves upon me, is there a small and inglorious 
pleasure in the hope that I may meet, hereafter, in those 
Islands of the Blest which they dimly dreamt of, but 
which are opened unto my vision, without a cloud, or mist, 
or shadow of uncertainty and doubt, with those bright 
spirits which we do now converse with so imperfectly ; that 
I may catch from the very lips of Homer, the unclouded 
gorgeousness of fiction, and from the accents of Archime- 
des, the unadulterated calculations of truth ! ” 

Clutterbuck ceased ; and the glow of his enthusiasm 
diffused itself over his sunken eye and consumptive cheek. 
The boy, who had sat apart, and silent, during our dis- 
course, laid his head upon the table, and sobbed audibly ; 
'ind I rose, deeply affected, to offer to one for whom they 
were, indeed, unavailing, the wishes and blessing of an 
eager, but not hardened disciple of the world We parted : 
on this earth we can never meet again. The light has 
wasted itself away beneath the bushel. It will be six 
weeks to-morrow since the meek and noble-minded aca- 
demician breathed his last t 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


7i 


CHAPTER LXIY. 

*T is but a single murder. — Ltllo’s Fatal Curiosity 

It was in a melancholy and thoughtful mood that I rode 
away from the parsonage. Numerous and hearty were 
the maledictions I bestowed upon a system of education 
which, while it was so ineffective with the many, was so 
pernicious to the few. Miserable delusion (thought I), 
that encourages the ruin of health and the perversion of 
intellect, by studies that are as unprofitable to the world 
as they are destructive to the possessor — that incapacitate 
him for public, and unfit him for private, life ; — and that, 
while they expose him to the ridicule of strangers, render 
him the victim of his wife, and the prey of his domestic 1 

Busied in such reflections, I rode quickly on, till I found 
myself, once more, on the heath. I looked anxiously 
round for the conspicuous equipage of Lady Chester, but 
in vain: the ground was thin — nearly all the higher 
orders had retired : the common people, grouped together, 
and clamoring noisily, were withdrawing : and the shrill 
voices of the itinerant hawkers of cards and bills had, at 
length, subsided into silence. I rode over the ground, in 
the hope of finding some solitary straggler of our party. 
Alas ! there was not one ; and with much reluctance at, 
and distaste to, my lonely retreat, I turned in a homeward 
direction from the course. 


2e 


72 


teliiam; or, 

The evening had already set in, but there was a moon 
m the cold grey sky, that I could almost have thanked, in 
a sonnet, for a light which I felt was never more welcomely 
dispensed, when I thought of the cross-reads and dreary 
country I had to pass before I reached the longed-for 
haven of Chester Park. After I had left the direct road, 
the wind, which had before been piercingly keen, fell, 
and I perceived a dark cloud behind, which began slowly 
to overtake my steps. I care little, in general, for the 
discomfort of a shower; yet, as when we are in one mis- 
fortune we always exaggerate the consequence of a new 
one, I looked upon my dark pursuer with a very impatient 
and petulant frown, and set my horse on a trot, much more 
suitable to my inclination than his own. Indeed, he seemed 
fully alive to the cornless state of the parson’s stable, and 
evinced his sense of the circumstance by a very languid 
mode of progression, and a constant attempt, whenever his 
pace abated, and I suffered the rein to slumber upon his 
neck, to crop the rank grass that sprang up on either side 
of our road. I had proceeded about three miles on my 
way, when I heard the clatter of hoofs behind me. My 
even pace soon suffered me to be overtaken ; and, as the 
stranger checked his horse, when he was nearly by my 
side, I turned towards him, and beheld Sir John Tyrrell. 

“ Well,” said he, “ this is really fortunate ; for I began 
to fear I should have my ride, this cold evening, entirely 
to myself.” 

“ I imagined that you had long reached Chester Park 


4 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. To 

by this time,” said I. “ Did not you leave the course with 
our party ? ” 

“ No,” answered Tyrrell ; “ I had business, at New- 
market, with a rascally fellow of the name of Dawson. 
He lost to me rather a considerable wager, and asked me 
to come to town with him after the race, in order to pay 
me. As he said he lived on the direct road to Chester 
Park, and would direct, and even accompany me through 
all the difficult part of the ride, I the less regretted not 
joining Chester and his party ; and you know, Pelham, 
that when pleasure pulls one way, and money another, it 
is all over with the first. Well, — to return to my rascal 
— would you believe, that when we got to Newmarket, 
he left me at the inn, in order, he said, to fetch the money ; 
and after having kept me in a cold room, with a smoky 
chimney, for more than an hour, without making his ap- 
pearance, I sallied out into the town, and found Mr. 
Dawson quietly seated in a hell with that scoundrel Thorn- 
ton, whom I did not conceive, till then, he was acquainted 
with. It seems that he was to win, at hazard, sufficient to 
pay his wager 1 You may fancy my anger, and the conse- 
quent increase to it, when he rose from the table, ap- 
proached me, expressed his sorrow, d — d his ill luck, and 
informed me that he could not pay for three months. You 
know that I could not ride home with such a fellow — he 
might have robbed me by the way — so I returned to my 
inn — dined — ordered my horse — set off — inquired my 
way of every passenger I passed, and after innumerable 
misdirections — here I am!” 

II.— 7 


T4 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ I cannot sympathize with you,” said I, “ since I am 
benefited by your misfortunes. But do you think it very 
necessary to trot so fast ? I fear my horse can scarcely 
keep up with yours.” 

Tyrrell cast an impatient glance at my panting steed. 
“ It is cursed unlucky you should be so badly mounted, 
and we shall have a pelting shower presently.” 

In complaisance to Tyrrell, I endeavored to accelerate 
my steed. The roads were rough and stony ; and I had 
scarcely got the tired animal into a sharp trot, before — 
whether or no by some wrench among the deep ruts and 
flinty causeway — he fell suddenly lame. The impetuosity 
of Tyrrell broke out in oaths, and we both dismounted to 
examine the cause of my horse’s hurt, in the hope that it 
might only be the intrusion of some pebble between the 
shoe and the hoof. While we were yet investigating the 
cause of our misfortune, two men on horseback overtook 
us. Tyrrell looked up. “By Heaven,” said he, in a low 
tone, “it’s that dog Dawson, and his worthy coadjutor, 
Tom Thornton.” 

“ What’s the matter, gentlemen ? ” cried the bluff voice 
of the latter. “ Can I be of any assistance ? ” and without 
waiting our reply, he dismounted, and came up to us. He 
had no sooner felt the horse’s leg, than he assured us it was 
a most severe strain, and that the utmost I could effect 
would be to walk the brute gently home. 

As Tyrrell broke out into impatient violence at this 
speech, the sharper looked up at him with an expression 
of countenance I by no means liked, but in a very civil and 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. Vo 

even respectfal tone, said, “ If you wish, Sir John, to reach 
Chester Park sooner than Mr. Pelham can possibly do, 
suppose you ride on with us ; I will put you in the direct 
road before I quit you.” (Good-breeding, thought I, to 
propose leaving me to find my own way through this laby- 
rinth of ruts and stones !) However, Tyrrell, who was in 
a vile humor, refused the offer, in no very courteous man- 
ner ; and added, that he should continue with me as long 
as he could, and did not doubt that when he left me he 
should be able to find his own way. Thornton pressed 
the invitation still closer, and even offered, sotto voce , to 
send Dawson on before, should the baronet object to his 
company. 

“Pray, sir,” said Tyrrell, “leave me alone, and busy 
yourself about your own affairs.” After so tart a reply, 
Thornton thought it useless to say more ; he remounted, 
and with a silent and swaggering nod of familiarity, soon 
rode away with his companion. 

“ I am sorry,” said I, as we were slowly proceeding, 
“that you rejected Thornton’s offer.” 

“ Why, to say truth,” answered Tyrrell, “ I have so very 
bad an opinion of him, that I was almost afraid to trust 
myself in his company on so dreary a road. I have nearly 
(and he knows it), to the amount of two thousand pounds 
about me ; for I was very fortunate in my betting-book 
to-day.” 

“I know nothing about racing regulations,” said F; 
“ but I thought one never paid sums of that amount upou 
the ground ? ” 


tC PELHAM; OR, 

“Ah ! ’ answered Tyrrell, “but I won this sum, which 
is eighteen hundred pounds, of a country squire from Nor- 
folk, who said he did not know when he should see me 
again, and insisted on paying me on the spot : ’faith I was 
not nice in the matter. Thornton was standing by at tho 
time, and I did not half like the turn of his eye when he 
saw me put it up. Do you know, too,” continued Tyrrell, 
after a pause, “ that I had a d — d fellow dodging me all 
day, and yesterday too ; wherever I go, I am sure to see 
him. He seems constantly, though distantly, to follow 
me ; and what is worse, he wraps himself up so well, and 
keeps at so cautious a distance, that I can never catch a 
glimpse of his face.” 

I know not whv, but at that moment the recollection 
of the muffled figure I had seen upon the course, flashed 
upon me. 

“ Does he wear a long horseman’s cloak ? ” said I. 

“He does,” answered Tyrrell, in surprise; “have yon 
observed him ? ” 

“ I saw such a person on the race-ground,” replied I ; 
“ but only for an instant ! ” 

Farther conversation was suspended by a few heavy 
drops which fell upon us ; the cloud had passed over the 
moon, and was hastening rapidly and loweringly over our 
heads. Tyrrell was neither of an age, a frame, nor a tem- 
per, to be so indifferent to a hearty wetting as myself. 

“Come, come,” he cried, “you must put on that beast 
ofyour’s — I can’t get wet, for all the horses in the world.” 

I was not much pleased with the dictatorial tone of this 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 77 

% 

remark. “It is impossible,” said I, “especially as the 
horse is not my own, and seems considerably lamer than at 
first; but let me not detain you.” 

“Well!” cried Tyrrell, in a raised and angry voice, 
which pleased me still less than his former remark ; “ but 
how am I to find my way, if I leave you ? ” 

“ Keep straight on,” said I, “for a mile farther, then a 
sign -post will direct you to the left ; after a short time, you 
will have a steep hill to descend, at the bottom of which 
is a large pool, and a singularly shaped tree ; then again, 
keep s-traight on, till you pass a house belonging to Mr. 
Dawson ” 

“ Hang it, Pelham, make haste ! ” exclaimed Tyrrell, 
impatiently, as the rain began now 7 to descend fast and 
heavy. 

“When you have passed that house,” I resumed coolly, 
rather enjoying his petulance, “you must bear to the right 
for six miles, and you will be at Chester Park in less than 
an hour.” 

Tyrrell made no reply, but put spurs to his horse. The 
pattering rain and the angry heavens soon drowned the 
last echoes of the receding hoof-clang. 

For myself, I looked in vain for a tree ; not even a shrub 
was to be found ; the fields lay bare on either side, with 
no other partition but a dead hedge, and a deep dyke. 
“ Melius fit patentid ,” &c., thought I, as Horace said, and 
Vincent would say ; and in order to divert my thoughts 
from my situation, I turned them towards my diplomatic 
success with Lord Chester. Presently, for I think scarcely 
7 * 


n 8 


A 


PELHAM; OR, 




five minutes had elapsed since Tyrrell’s departure, a horse* 
man passed me at a sharp pace ; the moon was hid by the 
dense cloud; and the night, though not wholly dark, was 
dim and obscured, so that I could only catch the outline 
of the flitting figure. A thrill of fear crept over me, when 
1 saw that it was enveloped in a horseman’s cloak. I soon 
rallied : — “ There are more cloaks in the world than one,” 
said I to myself; “besides, even if it be Tyrrell’s dodger, 
as he calls him, the baronet is better mounted than any 
highwayman since the days of Du Yal; and is, moreover, 
strong enough and cunning enough to take admirable care 
of himself.” With this reflection I dismissed the occur- 
rence from my thoughts, and once more returned to self- 
congratulations upon my own incomparable genius. “I 
shall now,” I thought, “ have well earned my seat in Par- 
liament : Dawton will indisputably be, if not the prime, 
the principal minister in rank and influence. He cannot 
fail to promote me for his own sake, as well as mine ; and 
when I have once fairly got my legs in St. Stephen’s, I 
shall soon have my hands in office : ‘ power,’ says some one, 
‘is a snake that when it once finds a hole into which it 
can introduce its head, soon manages to wriggle in the 
rest of its body.’” 

With such meditations I endeavored to beguile the time, 
and cheat myself into forgetfulness of the lameness of my 
horse, and the dripping wetness of his rider. At last the 
storm began sullenly to subside : one impetuous torrent, 
ten-fold more violent than those that had preceded it, was 
followed by a momentary stillness, which was again broken 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


79 


by a short relapse of a >ess formidable severity, and, the 
moment it ceased, the beautifal moon broke out, the cloud 
rolled heavily away, and the sky shone forth, as fair and 

smiling as Lady at a ball, after she has been beating 

her husband at home. 

But at that instant, or perhaps a second before the storm 
ceased, I thought I heard the sound of a human cry. I 
paused, and my heart stood still — I could have heard a 
gnat hum : the sound was not repeated ; my ear caught 
nothing but the plashing of the rain-drops from the dead 
hedges, and the murmur of the swollen dykes, as the waters 
pent within them rolled hurriedly on. By and by, an owl 
came suddenly from behind me, and screamed as it flapped 
across my path ; that, too, went rapidly away : and with 
a smile, at what I deemed my own fancy, I renewed my 
journey. I soon came to the precipitous descent I have 
before mentioned ; I dismounted, for safety, from my 
drooping and jaded horse, and led him down the hill. At 
a distance beyond I saw something dark moving on the 
grass which bordered the road ; as I advanced, it started 
forth from the shadow, and fled rapidly before me, in the 
moonshine — it was a riderless horse. A chilling fore- 
boding seized me : I looked round for some weapon, such 
as the hedge might afford ; and finding a strong stick of 
tolerable weight and thickness, I proceeded more cau- 
tiously, but more fearlessly than before. As I wound down 
the hill, the moonlight fell full upon the remarkable and 
’onely tree I had observed in the morning. Bare, wan, 
and giant-like, as it rose amidst the surrounding waste, it 


80 


PELHAM; OR, 


borrowed even a more startling ‘and ghostly appearance 
from the cold and lifeless moonbeams which fell around 
and upon it like a shroud. The retreating steed I had 
driven before me, paused by this tree. I hastened my 
steps, as if by an involuntary impulse, as well as the en- 
feebled animal I was leading would allow me, and disco- 
vered a horseman galloping across the waste at full speed. 
The ground over which he passed was steeped in the 
moonshine, and I saw the long and disguising cloak, in 
which he was enveloped, as clearly as by the light of day. 
I paused : and as I was following him with my looks, my 
eye fell upon some obscure object by the left side of the 
pool. I threw my horse’s rein over the hedge, and firmly 
grasping my stick, hastened to the spot. As I approached 
the object, I perceived that it was a human figure ; it was 
lying still and motionless: the limbs were half immersed 
in the water — the face was turned upwards — the side 
and throat were wet with a deep red stain — it was of 
blood: the thin, dark hairs of the head were doited 
together over a frightful and disfiguring contusion. ] 
bent over the face in a shuddering and freezing silei^e. 
It was the countenance of Sir John Tyrrell 1 


% 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


81 


\ 


CHAPTER LXY. 

Marry, he was dead — 

And the right valiant Banquo walked too late: 

Whom you may say, if it please you, Fleance killed, 

For Fleance fled ! — Macbeth. 

It is a fearful tiling, even to the hardiest nerves, to find 
ourselves suddenly alone with the dead. How much more 
bo, if we have, but a breathing interval before, moved and 
conversed with the warm and living likeness of the mo- 
tionless clay before us ! 

And this was the man from whom I had parted in 
coldness — almost in anger — at a word — a breath ! I 
took up the heavy hand — it fell from my grasp ; and as 
it did so, I thought a change passed over the livid coun- 
tenance. I was deceived ; it was but a light cloud flitting 
o\er the moon; — it rolled away, and the placid and 
guiltless light shone over that scene of dread and blood, 
making more wild and chilling the eternal contrast of earth 
and heaven — man and his Maker — passion and immu- 
tability — death and eternal life. 

But that was not a moment for reflection — a thousand 
thoughts hurried upon me, and departed as swift and 
confusedly as they came. My mind seemed a jarring and 
benighted chaos of the faculties which were its elements ; 
and I had stood several minutes over the corpse before, 
by a vigorous effort, I shook off the stupor that possessed 


82 peliiam; or. 

me. and began to think of the course that it now behoved 
me to pursue. 

The house I had noted in the morning was, I knew, 
within a few minutes’ walk of the spot ; but it belonged 
to Dawson, upon whom the first weight of my suspicions 
rested. I called to mind the disreputable character of 
that man, and the still more daring and hardened one of 
his companion Thornton. I remembered the reluctance 
of the deceased to accompany them, and the well-grounded 
reason he assigned ; and, my suspicions amounting to 
certainty, I resolved rather to proceed to Chester Park, 
and there give the alarm, than to run the unnecessary risk 
of interrupting the murderers in the very lair of their 
retreat. And yet, thought I, as I turned slowly away, 
how if they were the villains, is the appearance and flight 
of the disguised horseman to be accounted for ? 

Then flashed upon my recollection all that Tyrrell had 
said of the dogged pursuit of that mysterious person, and 
the circumstance of his having passed me upon the road 
so immediately after Tyrrell had quitted me. These re- 
flections (associated with a name that I did not dare 
breathe even to myself, although I could not suppress a 
suspicion which accounted at once for the pursuit, and 
even for the deed,) made me waver in, and almost renounce, 
my former condemnation of Thornton and his friend : and 
by the time I reached the white gate and dwarfish avenue 
which led to Dawson’s house, I resolved, at all events, to 
halt at the solitary mansion, and mark the effect my in- 
formation would cause. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 83 

A momentary fear for my^own safety came across me, 
f >ut was as instantly dismissed : — for even supposing the 
friends were guilty, still it would be no object to them to 
extend their remorseless villany to me ; and I knew that I 
nould sufficiently command my own thoughts to prevent 
any suspicion I might form, from mounting to my counte- 
nance, or discovering itself in my manner. 

There was a light in the upper story ; it burned still 
and motionless. JIow holy seemed the tranquillity of life, 
contrasted with the forced and fearful silence of the death 
scene I had just witnessed ! I rang twice at the door — • 
no one came to answer my summons, but the light in the 
upper window moved hurriedly to and fro. 

They are coming,” said I to myself. No such thing 
— the casement above was opened — I looked up, and 
discovered, to my infinite comfort and delight, a blunder- 
buss protruded eight inches out of the window in a direct 
line with my head ; I receded close to the wall with no 
common precipitation. 

“ Get away, you rascal,” said a gruff, but trembling 
voice, “or I’ll blow your brains out.” 

“My good sir,” I replied, still keeping my situation, 
“ I come on urgent business, either to Mr. Thornton or 
Mr. Dawson; and you had better, therefore, if the delay 
is not very inconvenient, defer the honor you offer me, till 
I have delivered my message.” 

“Master and ’Squire Thornton arc not returned from 
Newmarket, and we cannot let any one in till they come 
home,” replied the voice, in a tone somewhat mollified by 


84 


PELHAM* OR, 


my rational remonstrance ; j^pd while I was deliberating 
what rejoinder to make, a rough, red head, like Liston’s 
in a farce, poked itself cautiously out under cover of the 
blunderbuss, and seemed to reconnoitre my horse and 
myself. Presently another head, but attired in the more 
civilized gear of a cap and flowers, peeped over the first 
person’s left shoulder ; the view appeared to reassure 
them both. 

“ Sir,” said the female, “ my husband and Mr. Thorn- 
ton are not returned ; and we have been so much alarmed 
of late, by an attack on the house, that I cannot admit 
any one till their return.” 

“ Madam,” I replied, reverently doffing my hat, “ I do 
not like to alarm you by mentioning the information I 
should have given to Mr. Dawson ; only oblige me by 
telling them, on their return, to look beside the pool on 
the Common ; they will then do as best pleases them.” 

Upon this speech, which certainly was of no agreeable 
tendency, the blunderbuss palpitated so violently, that I 
thought it highly imprudent to tarry any longer in so 
perilous a vicinity ; accordingly, I made the best of my 
way out of the avenue, and once more resumed my road 
to Chester Park. 

I arrived there at length ; the gentlemen were still in 
the dining-room, I sent out for Lord Chester, and com 
municated the scene I had witnessed, and the cause of 
my delay. 

“ What ! Brown Bob lamed ? ” said he, “ and Tyrrell — 
poor — poor fellow, how shocking ! We must send iu 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


85 


stan tly. Here, John ! Tom ! Wilson ! ” and his lordship 
shouted and rang the bell in an indescribable agitation. 

The under butler appeared, and Lord Chester began 

— “ My head groom — Sir John Tyrrell is murdered — 
violent sprain in off leg — send lights with Mr. Pelham 

— poor gentleman — an express instantly to Dr. Physicon 
— - Mr Pelham will tell you all — Brown Bob — his throat 
cut from ear to ear — what shall be done ? ” and with this 
coherent and explanatory harangue, the marquise sank 
down in his chair in a sort of hysteric. 

The under butler looked at him in suspicious bewilder- 
ment. “Come,” said I, “I will explain what his lord- 
ship means ; ” and, taking the man out of the room, I 
gave him, in brief, the necessary particulars. I ordered a 
fresh horse for myself, and four horsemen to accompany 
me. While these were preparing, the news was rapidly 
spreading, and I was soon surrounded by the whole house. 
Many of the gentlemen wished to accompany me ; and 
Lord Chester, who had at last recovered from his stupor, 
insisted upon heading the search. We set off, to the 
number of fourteen, and soon arrived at Dawson’s house : 
the light in the upper room was still burning. We rang, 
and after a brief pause, Thornton himself opetfed the door 
to us. He looked pale and agitated. 

“ How shocking ! ” he said directly — “ we are only just 
returned from the spot.” 

“Accompany us, Mr. Thornton,” said I, sternly, and 
fixing my eye upon him. 

“ Certainly,” was his immediate answer, without testi- 

TL — 8 


36 


PELHAM; OR, 


fying any confusion — “I will fetch my hat.” He went 
into the house for a moment. 

‘‘Do you suspect these people ?” whispered Lord Chester 

“Not suspect,” said I, “but doubt. 11 

We proceeded down the avenue : “Where is Mr. Daw- 
son ? ” said I to Thornton. 

“ Oh, within 1 ” answered Thornton. “ Shall I fetch 
him ? ” 

“ Do,” was my brief reply. 

Thornton was absent some minutes; when he reap- 
peared, Dawson was following him. “ Poor fellow,” said 
he to me in a low tone — “he was so shocked by the sight, 
that he is still all in a panic ; besides, as you will see, he 
is half drunk still.” 

I made no answer, but looked narrowly at Dawson ; he 
was evidently, as Thornton said, greatly intoxicated ; his 
eyes swam, and his feet staggered as he approached us ; 
yet, through all the natural effects of drunkenness, he 
seemed nervous and frightened. This, however, might be 
the natural (and consequently innocent) effect of the mere 
sight of an object so full of horror ; and, accordingly, I 
laid little stress upon it. 

We reached the fatal spot: the body seemed perfectly 
unmoved. “Why,” said I, apart to Thornton, while all 
the rest were crowding fearfully round the corpse — “ why 
did you not take the body within ? ” 

“I was going to return here with our servant for that 
purpose,” answered the gambler; “for poor Dawson was 
both too drunk and too nervous to give me any assistance ” 


SI 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 

“And how came it,” I rejoined, eyeing him searching!/, 
“that you and your friend had not returned home when I 
called there, although you had both long since passed me 
on the road, and I had never overtaken you ? ” 

Thornton, without any hesitation, replied — “ Because, 
during the violence of the shower, we cut across the fields 
to an old shed, which we recollected, and we remained 
there till the rain had ceased.” 

“ They are probably innocent,” thought I — and I turned 
to look once more at the body, which our companions had 
now raised. There was upon the head a strong contusion, 
as if inflicted by some blunt and heavy instrument. The 
fingers of the right hand were deeply gashed, and one of 
them almost dissevered : the unfortunate man had, in all 
probability, grasped the sharp weapon from which his other 
wounds proceeded ; these were one wide cut along the 
throat, and another in the side ; either of them would have 
occasioned his death. 

In loosening the clothes, another wound was discovered, 
but apparently of a less fatal nature ; and in lifting the body, 
the broken blade of a long sharp instrument, like a case- 
knife, was discovered. It was the opinion of the surgeon, 
who afterwards examined the body, that the blade had 
been broken by coming in contact with one of the rib-bones ; 
and it was by this that he accounted for the slightness of 
the last-mentioned wound. I looked carefully among the 
fern and long grass, to see if I could discover any other 

token of the murderer : Thornton assisted me. At the 

2d 


88 


PELHAM; OR, 


distance of some feet from the body, I thought I perceived 
something glitter. I hastened to the place, and picked up 
a miniature. I was just going to cry out, when Thornton 
whispered — “ Hush ! I know the picture ; it is as I sus- 
pected ! ” 

An icy thrill ran through my very heart. With a des- 
perate but trembling hand, I cleansed from the picture 
the blood, in which, notwithstanding its distance from the 
corpse, the greater part of it was bathed. I looked upon 
the features; they were those of a young and singularly 
beautiful female. I recognized them not : I turned to the 
other side of the miniature ; upon it were braided two locks 
of hair — one was the long, dark ringlet of a woman, the 
other was of a light auburn. Beneath were four letters. 
I looked eagerly at them. “My eyes are dim,” said I, 
in a low tone to Thornton, “I cannot trace the initials.” 

“ But I can,” replied he, in the same whispered key, but 

» 

with a savage exultation, which made my heart stand still : 
“they are G. D., B. G. ; they are the initials of Gertrude 
Douglas and Reginald Glanvilled 1 

I looked up at the speaker — our eyes met — I grasped 
« his hand vehemently. He understood me. “ Put it up,” 
said he ; “we will keep the secret.” All this, so long in 
the recital, passed in the rapidity of a moment. 

“ Have you found anything there, Pelham ? ” shouted 
one of our companions. 

“No,” cried I, thrusting the miniature in my bosom, 
and turning unconcernedly away. 

We carried the corpse to Dawson’s house. The poor 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


89 


wife was in fits. We heard her scream as we laid the body 
upon a table in the parlor. 

“ What more can be done ? ” said Lord Chester. 

“ Nothing,” was the general answer. No excitement 
makes people insensible to the chance of catching cold 1 

“Let us go home, then, and send to the nearest magis- 
Irate, ” exclaimed our host : and this proposal required no 
repetition. 

On our way, Chester said to me, “That fellow Dawson 
looked devilish uneasy — don’t you still suspect him and 
his friend ? ” 

“/ do not!” answered I, emphatically. 


CHAPTER LXYI. 

And now I’m in the world alone, 
****** 

But why for others should I groan, 

When none will sigh for. me? — Byron. 

The whole country was in confusion at the news of the 
murder. All the myrmidons of justice were employed in 
the most active research for the murderers. Some few 
persons were taken up on suspicion, but were as instantly 
discharged. Thornton and Dawson underwent a long 
and rigorous examination ; but no single tittle of evidence 
against them appeared : they were consequently dismissed, 
8 * 


r 


90 PELHAM*. OR, 

The only suspicious circumstance against them, was their 
delay on the road : but the cause given, the same as 
Thornton had at first assigned to me, was probable and 
natural. The shed was indicated, and, as if to confirm 
Thornton’s account, a glove belonging to that person was 
found there. To crown all, my own evidence, in which I 
was constrained to mention the circumstance of the muffled 
horseman having passed me on the road, and being found 
by me on the spot itself, threw the whole weight of suspi- 
cion upon that man, whoever he might be. 

All attempts, however, to discover him were in vain. 
It was ascertained that a man, muffled in a cloak, was seen 
at Newmarket, but not remarkably observed ; it was also 
discovered, that a person so habited had put up a grey 
horse to bait in one of the inns at Newmarket; but in the 
throng of strangers neither the horse nor its owner had 
drawn down any particular remark. 

On further inquiry, testimony differed ; four or five 
men, in cloaks, had left their horses at the stables ; one 
ostler changed the color of the steed to brown, a second 
to black, a third deposed that the gentleman was remark- 
ably tall, and the waiter swore solemnly he had given a 
glass of brandy and water to an wn&ecZ-looking gentleman, 
in a cloak, who was remarkably short. In fine, no mate- 
rial point could be proved, and though the officers were 
still employed in active search, they could trace nothing 
that promised a speedy discovery. 

As for myself, as soon as I decently could, I left Chester 
Park, with a most satisfactory despatch in my pocket, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


91 


from its possessor to Lord Dawton, and found myself once 
more on the road to London. 

Alas ! how different were my thoughts, how changed 
the temper of my mind, since I had last travelled that 
road ! Then I was full of hope, energy, ambition — of 
interest for Reginald Glanville — of adoration for his 
sister; and now, I leaned back listless and dispirited, 
without a single feeling to gladden the restless and feverish 
despair which, ever since that night, had possessed me 1 
What was ambition henceforth to me ? The most selfish 
amongst us must have some human being to whom to refer 
— with whom to connect, to associate, to treasure, the 
triumphs and gratifications of self. Where now for my 
heart was such a being ? My earliest friend, for whom 
my esteem was the greater for his sorrows, my interest the 
keener for his mystery, Reginald Glanville, was a mur- 
derer ! a dastardly, a barbarous felon, whom the chance 
of an instant might convict ! — and she — she, the only 
woman in the world I had ever really loved — who had 
ever pierced the thousand folds of my ambitious and 
scheming heart — she was the sister of the assassin ! 

Then came over my mind the savage and exulting eye 
of Thornton, when it read the damning record of Glan- 
ville's guilt ; and in spite of my horror at the crime of my 
former friend, I- trembled for his safety ; nor was I satisfied 
with myself at my prevarication as a witness. It is true 
that I had told the truth, but I had not told all the truth ; 
and my heart swelled proudly and bitterly against the 
miniature which I still concealed in my bosom. 


92 


PELHAM; OK, 


To save a criminal, in whose safety I was selfishly con- 
cerned, I felt that I had tampered with my honor, paltered 
with the truth, and broken what justice, not over-harshly, 
deemed a peremptory and inviolable duty. 

It was with a heightened pulse, and a burning cheek, 
that I entered London ; before midnight I was in a high 
fever; they sent for the vultures of physic — I was bled 
copiously — I was kept quiet in bed for six days ; at the 
end of that time, my constitution and youth restored me. 
I took up one of the newspapers listlessly ; Glanville’s 
name struck me ; I read the paragraph which contained it 
— it was a high-flown and fustian panegyric on his genius 
and promise. I turned to another column : it contained 
a long speech he had the night before made in the House 
of Commons. 

“ Can such things be ? ” thought I ; yea, and thereby 
hangs a secret and an anomaly in the human heart. A 
man may commit the greatest of crimes, and (if no other 
succeed to it) it changes not the current of his being ; to 
all the world — to all intents — for all objects, he may be 
the same. He may equally serve his country — equally 
benefit his friends — be generous — brave — benevolent, 
all that he was before. One crime, however heinous, 
does not necessarily cause a revolution in the system — - 

N 

it is only the perpetual course of sins, vices, follies, however 
insignificant they may seem, which alters the nature and 
hardens the heart. 

My mother was out of town when I returned there. 
They had written to her during my illness, and while I 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


93 


was yet musing over the day’s journal, a letter from her 
was put into my hand. I transcribe it. 

“ My dearest Henry, 

“ How dreadfully uneasy I am about you ! write to me 
directly. I would come to town myself, but am staying 
with dear Lady Dawton, who will not hear of my going ; 
and I cannot offend her for your sake. By-the-bye, why 
have you not called upon Lord Dawton ? but, I forgot, 
you have been ill. My dear, dear child, I am wretched 
about you, and how pale your illness will make you look I 
just, too, as the best part of the season is coming on. 
How unlucky ! Pray, don’t wear a black cravat when 
you next call on Lady Roseville ; but choose a very fine 
baptiste one — it will make you look rather delicate than 
ill. What physician do you have ? I hope, in God, that 
it is Sir Henry Halford. I shall be too miserable if it is 
not. I am sure no one can conceive the anguish I suffer. 
Your father, too, poor man, has been laid up with the 
gout for the last three days. Keep up your spirits, my 
dearest child, and get some light books to entertain you : 
but, pray, as soon as you are well, do go to Lord Daw- 
ton’s — he is dying to see you ; but be sure not to catch 
eold. How did you like Lady Chester ? Pray take the 
greatest care of yourself, and write soon to 
“ Your wretched, and most 

“Affectionate mother, 

“F. P.” 

“ P. S. How dreadfully shocking about that poor Sir 
John Tyrrell 1 ” 


PELHAM; OR, 


94 

I tossed the letter from me. Heaven pardon me if thf 
misanthropy of my mood made me less grateful for the 
maternal solicitude than I should otherwise have been. 

I took up one of the numerous books with which my 
table was covered ; it was a worldly work of one of the 
French reasoners ; it gave a new turn to my thoughts — 
iny mind reverted to its former projects of ambition. Who 
does not know what active citizens private misfortune 
makes us ? The public is like the pools of Bethesda — we 
all hasten there, to plunge in and rid ourselves of our 
afflictions. 

I drew my portfolio to me, and wrote to- Lord Dawton. 
Three hours after I had sent the note, he called upon me 
I gave him Lord Chester’s letter, but he had already re 
ceived from that nobleman a notification of my success. 
He was profuse in his compliments and thanks. 

“And, do you know,” added the statesman, “ that you 
have quite made a conquest of Lord Guloseton ? He 
speaks of you publicly in the highest terms : I wish we 
could get him and his votes. We must be strengthened, 
my dear Pelham ; everything depends on the crisis.” 

“Are you certain of the cabinet ? ” I asked. 

“Yes ; it is not yet publicly announced, but it is fully 
known amongst us, who comes in, and who stays out. I 

am to have the place of .” 

“ I congratulate your lordship from my heart. What 
post do you design for me ? ” 

Lord Dawton changed countenance. “Why really 

— Pelham, we have not yet filled up the lesser appoint- 


ADVENTURES Of A GENTLEMAN. 


95 


ments, but you shall be well remembered — well , my dear 
Pelham — be sure of it.” 

I looked at the noble speaker with a glance which, I 
flatter myself, is peculiar to me. Is, thought I, the embryo 
minister playing upon me as upon one of his dependent 
tools ? Let him beware 1 The anger of the moment passed 
jv.vay. 

“Lord Dawton,” said I, “one word, and I have done 
discussing my claims for the present. Do you mean to 
place me in Parliament as soon as you are in the cabinet ? 
What else you intend for me, I question not.” 

“Yes, assuredly, Pelham. How can you doubt it?” 
“Enough ! — and now read this letter from France.” 
***** 

***** 

Two days after my interview with Lord Dawton, as I 
was riding leisurely through the Green Park, in no very 
bright and social mood, one of the favored carriages, whose 
owners are permitted to say, “ Hie iter est nobis,” over- 
took me. A sweet voice ordered the coachman to stop, 
and then addressed itself to me. 

“ What ! the hero of Chester Park returned, without 
having once narrated his adventures to me ? ” 

“Beautiful Lady Roseville,” said I, “ I plead guilty of 
negligence — not treason. I forgot, it is true, to appear 
before you, but I forget not the devotion of my duty now 
that I behold you. Command, and I obey.” 

“ See, Ellen,” said Lady Roseville, turning to a bending 
and blushing countenance beside her, which I then first 


96 PELHAM; OR, 

perceived — “see what it is to be a knight-errant ; ever 
his language is worthy of Amadis of Gaul — but — (again 
addressing me) your adventures are really too shocking a 
subject to treat lightly. We lay our serious orders on you 
to come to our castle this night ; we shall be alone.” 

“ Willingly shall I repair to your bower, fayre ladie ; 
but tell me, I beseech you, how many persons are signified 
in the word * alone ? ’ ” 

“ Why,” answered Lady Roseville, “ I fear we may have 
a few people with us ; but I think, Ellen, we may promise 
our chevalier that the number shall not exceed twelve.” 

I bowed and rode on. What worlds would I not have 
given to have touched the hand of the countess’s compan- 
ion, though only for an instant. But — and that fearful 
but, chilled me, like an icebolt. I put spurs to my horse, 
and dashed fiercely onwards. There was rather- a high 
wind stirring, and I bent my face from it, so as scarcely 
to see the course of my spirited and impatient horse. 

“ What ho, sir 1 — what ho ! ” cried a shrill voice — “ for 
Heaven’s sake, don’t ride over me before dinner, whatever 
you do after it 1 ” 

I pulled up. “Ah, Lord Guloseton ! how happy I am 
to see you ; pray forgive my blindness, and my horse’s 
stupidity.” 

“ ’Tis an ill wind,” answered the noble gourmand, “ which 
blows nobody good ; — an excellent proverb, the veracity 
of which is daily attested ; for however unpleasant a keen 
wind may be, there is no doubt of its being a marvellous 
whetter of that greatest of Heaven’s blessings — an appe - 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 91 

tite. Little, however, did I expect, that besides blowing 
me a relish for my saute de foie gras, it would also blow 
me one who might, probably, be a partaker of my enjoy- 
ment. Honor me with your company at dinner to-day.” 

‘ What saloon will you dine in, my Lord Lucullus ? ” 
said I, in allusion to the custom of the epicure, by whose 
name I addressed him. 

“The saloon of Diana,” replied Guloseton — “for she 
must certainly have shot the fine buck of which Lord H. 
sent me the haunch that we shall have to-day. It is the 
true old Meynell breed. I ask you not to meet Mr. So- 
and-so, and Lord What-d’ye-call-him : I ask you to meet 
a saute de foie gras, and a haunch of venison.” 

“I will most certainly pay them my respects. Never 
did I know before how far things were better company 
than persons. Your lordship has taught me that great 
truth.” 

“ God bless me ! ” cried Guloseton, with an air of vex- 
ation, “ here comes the Duke of Stilton, a horrid person, 
who told me the other day, at my petit diner , when I 
apologized to him for some strange error of my artiste's , 
by which common vinegar had been substituted for Chili 
— who told me — what think you he told me ? You cannot 
guess, — he told me, forsooth, that he did not care what he 
ate ; and, for his part, he could make a very good dinner off 
a beef-steak ! Why the deuce, then, did he come and dine 
with me? Could he have said anything more cutting? 
Imagine my indignation, when I looked round my table 


II.— 9 


98 




PELHAM; OR, 


and saw so many good things thrown away upon such an 
idiot. ” 

Scarcely was the last word out of the gourmand’s mouth 
before the noble personage so designated joined us. It 
amused me to see Guloseton’s contempt (which he scarcely 
took the pains to suppress) of a person whom all Europe 
honored, and his evident weariness of a companion, whose 
society every one else would have coveted as the summum 
bonum of worldly distinction. As for me, feeling anything 
but social, I soon left the ill-matched pair, and rode into 
the other park. 

Just as I entered it, I perceived, on a dull, yet cross- 
looking pony, Mr. Wormwood, of bitter memory. Although 
we had not met since our mutual sojourn at Sir Lionel 
Garrett’s, and were then upon very cool terms of acquaint- 
ance, he seemed resolved to recognize and claim me. 

“ My dear sir,” said he, with a ghastly smile, “ I am 
rejoiced once more to see you ; bless me, how pale you 
look ! I heard you had been very ill. Pray, have you 
been yet to that man who professes to cure consumption 
in the worst stages ? ” 

“Yes,” said I, “he read me two or three letters ol 
reference from the patients he had cured. His last, ho 
said, was a gentleman very far gone — a Mr. Wormwood.” 

“ Oh, you are pleased to be facetious,” said the cynic, 
coldly — “but pray do tell me about that horrid affair at 
Chester Park. How disagreeable it must have been to 
you to be taken up on suspicion of the murder ! ” 

“ Sir,” said I, haughtily, “what do you mean ? ” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 99 

"Oh, you were not — wer’n’t you? Well, I always 
thought it unlikely ; but every one says so ” 

"My dear sir,” I rejoined, "how long is it since you 
have minded what every body says ? If I were so foolish, 
I should not be riding with you now ; but I have always 
said, in contradiction to every body, and even in spite of 
being universally laughed at for my singular opinion, that 
you, my dear Mr. Wormwood, were by no means silly, nor 
ignorant, nor insolent, nor intrusive ; that you were, on the 
contrary, a very decent author, and a very good sort of 
man ; and that you were so benevolent, that you daily 
granted, to some one or other, the greatest happiness in 
your power: it is a happiness, I am now about to enjoy, 
and it consists in wishing you ‘ good-bye P ” And without 
waiting for Mr. Wormwood’s answer, I gave the rein to 
my horse, and was soon lost among the crowd, which had 
now begun to assemble. 

Hyde Park is a stupid place. The English of the fash- 
ionable world make business an enjoyment, and enjoyment 
a business : they are born without a smile ; they rove about 
public places like so many easterly winds — cold, sharp, 
and cutting ; or like a group of fogs on a frosty day, sent 
out of his hall by Boreas, for the express purpose of looking 
black at one another . When they ask you, " how you do,” 
you would think they were measuring the length of your 
coffin. They are ever, it is true, laboring to be agree- 
able ; but they are like Sisyphus, the stone they roll up 
the hill with so much toil, runs down again, and hits you 
a thump on the legs. They are sometimes polite , but 


100 


PELHAM; OR, 


invariably uncivil ; their warmth is always artificial — 
their cold never ; they are stiff without dignity, and criuging 
without manners. They offer you an affront, and call it 
“ plain truth ; ” they wound your feelings, and tell you it 
is manly “to speak their minds;” at the same time, while 
they have neglected all the graces and charities of artifice, 
they have adopted all its falsehood and deceit. While 
they profess to abhor servility, they adulate the peerage ; 
while they tell you they care not a rush for the minister, 
they move heaven and earth for an invitation from the 
minister’s wife. Then their amusements! — the heat — ■ 
the dust — the sameness — the slowness, of that odious 
park in the morning ! and the same exquisite scene repeat- 
ed in the evening, on the condensed stage of a rout-room, 
where one has more heat, with less air, and a narrower 
dungeon, with diminished possibility of escape! — we 
wander about like the damned in the story of Yathekj 
and we pass our lives, like the royal philosopher of Prussia, 
in conjugating the verb, Je m'ennuis. 


\ 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 101 


CHAPTER LXYII. 

In solo vivendi causa palate est. — Juvenal. 

* 

They would talk of nothing but high life, and high-lived 
company ; with other fashionable topics, such as pictures, taste, 
Shakspeare, and the musical glasses. — Vicar of Wakefield. 

The reflections which closed the last chapter will serve 
to show that I was in no very amiable or convivial temper, 
when I drove to Lord Guloseton’s dinner. However, in 
the world, it matters little what may be our real mood, 
the mask hides the bent brow and the writhing lip. 

Guloseton was stretched on his sofa, gazing with upward 
eye at the beautiful Venus w r hich hung above his hearth. 
“You are welcome, Pelham; I am worshipping my 
household divinity ! ” 

I prostrated myself on the opposite sofa, and made 
some answer to the classical epicure, which made us both 
laugh heartily. We then talked of pictures, painters, 
poets, the ancients, and Dr. Henderson on Wines ; ,ve 
gave ourselves up, without restraint, to the enchanting 
fascination of the last-named subject ; and, our mutual 
enthusiasm confirming our cordiality, we went down stairs 
to our dinner, as charmed with each other as boon com- 
panions always should be. 

“ This is as it should be,” said I, looking round at the 
tvell-filled table, and the sparkling spirits immersed in the 
9 * 


102 


PELHAM; OR, 


ice-pails ; “ a genuine friendly dinner. It is very rarely 
that I dare entrust myself to such extempore hospitality 
— miserum est aliena vivere quadra; — a friendly dinner, 
a family meal, are things from which I fly with undisguised 
aversion. It is very hard, that .n England, one cannot 
have a friend, on pain of being shot or poisoned ; if you 
refuse his familiar invitations, he thinks you mean to affront 
him, and says something rude, for which you are forced to 
challenge him ; if you accept them, you perish beneath 
the weight of boiled mutton and turnips, or ” 

“My dear friend/’ interrupted Guloseton, with his 
mouth full, “ it is very true ; but this is no time for talking ; 
let us eat” 

I acknowledged the justice of the rebuke, and we did not 
interchange another word beyond the exclamations of 
surprise, pleasure, admiration, or dissatisfaction, called up 
by the objects which engrossed our attention, till we found 
ourselves alone with our dessert. 

When I thought my host had imbibed a sufficient quan- 
tity of wine, I once more renewed my attack. I had tried 
him before upon that point of vanity which is centred in 
power, and political consideration, but in vain ; I now 
Dethought me of another. 

“ How few persons there are/’ said I, “ capable of giving 
even a tolerable dinner — how many capable of admiring 
one worthy of estimation ! I could imagine no greater 
triumph for the ambitious epicure, than to see at his board 
the first and most honored persons of the state, all lost in 
wonder at the depth, the variety, the purity, the munificence 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. F>3 

of his taste ; all forgetting, in the extorted respect which 
a gratified palate never fails to produce, the more visionary 
schemes and projects which usually occupy their thoughts ; 
— to find those whom all England are soliciting for posts 
and power, become, in their turn, eager and craving as- 
pirants for places at his table ; — to know that all the 
grand movements of the ministerial body are planned and 
agitated over the inspirations of his viands and the excite- 
ment of his wine. From a haunch of venison, like the 
one of which we have partaken to-day, what noble and 
substantial measures might arise ! From a sautS de foie, 
what delicate subtleties of finesse might have their origin ! 
From a ragout d la financi&re, what godlike improvements 
in taxation 1 Oh, could such a lot be mine, I would envy 
neither Napoleon for the goodness of his fortune, nor 

S for the grandeur of his genius.” 

Guloseton laughed. “ The ardor of your enthusiasm 
blinds your philosophy, my dear Pelham ; like Montes- 
quieu, the liveliness of your fancy often makes you advance 
paradoxes which the consideration of your judgment 
would afterwards condemn. For instance, you must allow 
that if one had all those fine persons at one’s table, one 
would be forced to talk more, and consequently to eat 
less : moreover, you would either be excited by your 
triumph, or you would not, — that is indisputable ; if you 
are not excited, you have the bore for nothing ; if you are 
excited, you spoil your digestion : nothing is so detrimental 
to the stomach as the feverish inquietude of the passions. 

All philosophies recommend calm as the to kalon of their 

2e 


104 


PELHAM; OR, 


code ; and you must perceive, that if, in the course you 
advise, one has occasional opportunities of pride, one also 
has those of mortification. Mortification ! terrible word ; 
how many apoplexies have arisen from its source ! No. 
Pelham, away with ambition ; fill your glass, and learn, 
at last, the secret of real philosophy.” 

“ Confound the man ! ” was my mental anathema. — 
11 Long life to the Solomon of sautes ,” was my audible 
exclamation. 

“There is something,” resumed Guloseton, “in your 
countenance and manner, at once so frank, lively, and 
ingenuous, that one is not only prepossessed in your favor, 
but desirous of your friendship. I tell you, therefore, in 
confidence, that nothing more amuses me than to see the 
courtship I receive from each party. I laugh at all the 
unwise and passionate contests in which others are enga- 
ged, and I would as soon think of entering into the chivalry 
of Don Quixote, or attacking the visionary enemies of the 
Bedlamite, as of taking part in the fury of politicians. At 
present, looking afar off at their delirium, I can ridicule 
it ; were I to engage in it, I should be hurt by it. I have 
no wish to become the weeping, instead of the laughing, 
philosopher. I steep well now — I have no desire to sleep 
ill. I eat well — why should I lose my appetite ? I am 
undisturbed and unattacked in the enjoyments best suited 
to my taste — for what purpose should I be hurried into 
the abuse of the journalists and the witticisms of pam- 
phleteers ? I can ask those whom I like to my house 

why should I be forcedin to asking those whom I do not 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 10^ 

like ? In fine, my good Pelham, why should I sour my 
temper and shorten my life, put my green old age into 
flannel and physic, and become, from the happiest of sages, 
the most miserable of fools ? Ambition reminds me of 
what Bacon says of anger — ‘It is like rain, it breaks 
itself upon that which it falls on.’ Pelham, my boy, taste 
the Chateau Margot. 

However hurt my vanity might be in having so ill suc- 
ceeded in my object, I could not help smiling with satis- 
faction at my entertainer’s principles of wisdom. My 
diplomatic honor, however, was concerned, and I resolved 
yet to gain him. If, hereafter, I succeeded, it was by a very 
different method from any I had yet taken ; meanwhile, I 
departed from the house of this modern Apicius with a 
new insight into the great book of mankind, and a new 
conclusion from its pages ; viz. that no virtue can make so 
perfect a philosopher as the senses. There is no content 
like that of the epicure — no active code of morals si 
difficult to conquer as the inertness of his indolence ; he k 
the only being in the world for whom the present has a 
supremer gratification than the future. 

My cabriolet soon whirled me to Lady Roseville's door; 
the first person I saw in the drawing-room, was Ellen. 
She lifted up her eyes with that familiar sweetness with 
which they had long since learnt to welcome me. “ She 
is the sister of a murderer 1 ” was the thought that curdled 
my blood, and I bowed distantly and passed on. 

I met Yincent. He seemed dispirited and dejected. 
He already saw how ill his party had succeeded ; above 


106 


PELHAM; OR, 


all, he was enraged at the idea of the person assigned by 
rumour to fill the place he had intended for himself. This 
person was a sort of rival to his lordship, a man of quaint- 
ness and quotation, with as much learning as Yincent, 
equal wit, and — but that personage is still in office, and 
I will say no more, lest he should think I flatter. 

To our subject. It has probably been observed that 
Lord Yincent had indulged less of late in that peculiar 
strain of learned humor formerly his wont. The fact is, 
that he had been playing another part; he wished to 
remove from his character that appearance of literary 
coxcombry with which he was charged. He knew well 
how necessary, in the game of politics, it is to appear no 
less a man of the world than of books ; and though he 
was not averse to display his clerkship and scholastic 
Information, yet he endeavored to make them seem rather 
valuable for their weight, than curious for their fashion. 
How few there are in the world who retain, after a certain 
age, the character originally natural to them ! We all 
get, as it were, a second skin ; the little foibles, propen- 
sities, eccentricities, we first indulged through affectation, 
conglomerate and encrust till the artificiality grows into 
nature. 

“ Pelham, ” said Yincent, with a cold smile, “the day 
will be yours ; the battle is not to the strong — the Whigs 
will triumph. ‘ Fugere Pudor, verum que, fidesque ; in 
quorum subiere locum fraudesque dolique insidiceque f 
et vis, et amor sceleratus habendid ”* 


* “Shame, Truth, and Faith have flown; in their stead creep in 
frauds, craft, snares, force, and the rascally love of gain.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN i07 

“A pretty modest quotation,’’ said I. “You must allow, 
at least, that the amor sceleratus habendi was also, in 
some moderate degree, shared by the Pudor and Fides 
which characterize your party ; otherwise I am at a loss 
how to account for the tough struggle against us we have 
lately had the honor of resisting.” 

“ Never mind,” replied Vincent, “ I will not refute you : 
— It is not for us, the defeated, to argue with you, the 
victors. But pray, (continued Vincent, with a sneer which 
pleased me not,) pray, among this windfall of the Hespe- 
rian fruit, what nice little apple will fall to your share ? ’’ 

“ My good Vincent, don’t let us anticipate ; if any such 
apple should come into my lap, let it not be that of 
discord between us.” 

“Who talks of discord?” asked Lady Roseville, join- 
ing us. 

“ Lord Vincent,” said I, “ fancies himself the celebrated 
fruit, on which was written, detur pulchriori, to be given 
to the fairest. Suffer me, therefore, to make him a present 
to your ladyship.” 

Vincent muttered something which, as I really liked 
and esteemed him, I was resolved not to hear ; accordingly 
I turned to another part of the room : there I found Lady 
Dawton — she was a tall, handsome woman, as proud as 
a liberal’s wife ought to be. She received me with unusual 
graciousness, and I sat myself beside her. Three dowa- 
gers, and an old beau of the old school, were already 
sharing the conversation with the haughty countess. I 
found that the topic was society. 


108 


PELHAM; OR, 


“No,” said the old beau, who was entitled Mr. Claren- 
don, “ society is very different from what it was in my 
younger days. You remember, Lady Paulet, those de- 
lightful parties at D House ? Where shall we ever 

find anything like them? Such ease, such company — 
even the mixture was so piquant ; if one chanced to sit 
next a bourgeois , he was sure to be distinguished for his 
wit or talent. People were not tolerated, as now, merely 
for their riches.” 

“ True,” cried Lady Dawton, “it is the introduction of 
low persons, without any single pretension, which spoils 
the society of the present day ! ” And the three dowa- 
gers sighed amen, to this remark. 

“And yet,” said I, “since I may safely say so here 
without being suspected of a personality in the shape of 
a compliment, don’t you think, that without any such 
mixture we should be very indifferent company ? Do we 
not find those dinners and soirees the pleasantest where 
we see a minister next to a punster, a poet to a prince, 
and a coxcomb like me next to a beauty like Lady Dawton ? 
The more variety there is in the conversation, the more 
agreeable it becomes ! ” 

“ Very just,” answered Mr. Clarendon ; “ but it is pre- 
cisely because I wish for that variety that I dislike a 
miscellaneous society. If one does not know the person 
beside whom one has the happiness of sitting, what possible 
subject can one broach with any prudence. I put politics 
aside, because, thanks to party spirit, we rarely meet those 
we are strongly opposed to ; but if we sneer at the metho 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


109 


dists, our neighbor may be a saint — if we abuse a new 
book, he may have written it — if we observe that the 
tone of the piano-forte is bad, his father may have made 
it — if we complain of the uncertainty of the commercial 
interest, his uncle may have been gazetted last week. I 
name no exaggerated instances ; on the contrary, I refeT 
these general remarks to particular individuals, whom all 
of us have probably met. Thus, you see, that a variety 
of topics is proscribed in a mixed company, because some 
one or other of them will be certain to offend.” 

Perceiving that we listened to him with attention, Mr. 
Clarendon continued — “NoMsthis more than a minor 
objection to the great mixture prevalent amongst us : a 
more important one may be found in the universal imitation 
it produces. The influx of common persons being once 
permitted, certain sets recede, as it were, from the con- 
tamination, and contract into very diminished coteries. 
Living familiarly solely amongst themselves, however they 

ft 

may be forced into visiting promiscuously, they imbibe 
certain manners, certain peculiarities in mode and words 
--even in an accent or a pronunciation, which are confined 
to themselves : and whatever differs from these little 
eccentricities, they are apt to condemn as vulgar and 
suburban. Now, the fastidiousness of these sets making 
them difficult of intimate access, even to many of their 
superiors in actual rank, those very superiors, by a natural 
feeling in human nature, of prizing what is rare, even if 
U is- worthless, are the first to solicit their acquaintance ; 

and, as a sign that they enjoy it, to imitate those peculi- 
11 . — 10 


110 


PELHAM; OR, 


\ 


arities which are the especial hieroglyphics of this sacred 
few. The lower grades catch the contagion, and imitate 
those they imagine most likely to know the essentials of 
the mode ; and thus manners, unnatural to all, are trans- 
mitted second-hand, third-hand, fourth-hand, till they ara 
ultimately filtered into something worse than no manners 

at all. Hence, you perceive all people timid, stiff, unnatu- 

<» 

ral, and ill at ease ; they are dressed up in a garb which 
does not fit them, to which they have never been accus- 
tomed, and are as little at home as the wild Indian in the 
boots and garments of the more civilized European.” 
“And hence,” said I, “ springs that universal vulgarity 
of idea, as well as manner, which pervades all society — . 
for nothing is so plebeian as imitation.” 

“A very evident truism ! ” said Clarendon. “What I 
lament most, is the injudicious method certain persons 
took to change this order of things, and diminish the 
desagremens of the mixture we speak of. I remember 
well, when Almack’s was first set up, the intention was to 
keep away the rich roturiers from a place, the tone of 
which was also intended to be contrary to their own. 
For this purpose the patronesses were instituted, the 
price of admission made extremely low, and all ostentatious 
refreshments discarded : it was an admirable institution 
for the interests of the little oligarchy who ruled it — but 
it has only increased the general imitation and vulgarity. 
P%rh apsthe records of that institution contain things more 
disgraceful to the aristocracy of England, than the whole 
history of Europe can furnish. And how could the J/c.v- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. Ill 

i neurs et Mesdames Jourdains help following the servile 
and debasing example of Monseigneur le Due et Pair ? ” 

“ How strange it is,” said one of the dowagers, “ that 
of all the novels on society with which we are annually 
inundated, there is scarcely one which gives even a tolera- 
ble description of it ! ” 

“ Not strange,” said Clarendon, with a formal smile, 
“ if your ladyship will condescend to reflect. Most of the 
writers upon our little great world have seen nothing of 
it : at most, they have been occasionally admitted into the 
routs of the B.’s and C.’s of the second, or rather the third 
set. A very few are, it is true, gentlemen ; but gentlemen, 
who are not writers, are as bad as writers who are not 
gentlemen. In one work, which, since it is popular, I 
will not name, there is a stiffness and stiltedness in the 
dialogue and descriptions perfectly ridiculous. The author 
makes his countesses always talking of their family, and 
his earls always quoting the peerage. There is as much 
fuss about state, and dignity, and pride, as if the greatest 
amongst us were not far too busy with the petty affairs 
of the world to have time for such lofty vanities. There 
is only one rule necessary for a clever writer who wishes 
to delineate the beau monde. It is this : let him consider 
that ‘dukes, and lords, and noble princes,’ eat, drink, talk, 
move, exactly the same as any other class of civilized 
people — nay, the very subjects in conversation are, for 
the most part, the same in all sets — only, perhaps, they 
are somewhat more familiarly and easily treated with us 

« 

than among the lower orders, who fancy rank is distin- 


112 


PELHAM; OR, 


guished by pomposity, and that state affairs are discussed 
with the solemnity of a tragedy — that we are always my 
lording and my ladying each other — that we ridicule 
commoners, and curl our hair with Debrett’s Peerage. ” 

We all laughed at this speech, the truth of which we 
readily acknowledged. 

“ Nothing,” said Lady Dawton, “ amuses me more than 
to see the great distinction which novel-writers make 
between the titled and the untitled ; they seem to be 
perfectly unaware that a commoner, of ancient family and 
large fortune, is very often of far more real rank and esti- 
mation, and even weight , in what they are pleased to term 
fashion , than many of the members of the Upper House. 
And what amuses me as much, is the no distinction they 

make between all people who have titles : — Lord A , 

the little baron, is exactly the same as Lord Z , the 

great marquess, equally haughty and equally important.” 

“Mais, mon Dieuf said a little French count, who had 
just joined us; “how is it that you can expect to find a 
description of society entertaining, when the society itself 
is so dull ? — the closer the copy, the more tiresome it 
must be. Your manner, pour vous amuser, consists in 
standing on a crowded staircase, and complaining that 
you are terribly bored. L'on s'accoutume difficilement 
d une vie qui se passe sur Vescalier .” 

“It is very true,” said Clarendon, “we cannot defend* 
ourselves. We are a very sensible, thinking, brave, saga, 
cious, generous, industrious, noble-minded people ; but it 
must be confessed, that we are terrible bores to ourselves 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 113 

and all the rest of the world. Lady Paulet, if you are 
going so soon, honor me by accepting my arm.” 

“ You should say your hand” said the Frenchman. 

“Pardon me,” answered the gallant old beau ; “I say, 
with your brave countryman when he lost his legs in battle, 
and was asked by a lady, like the one who now leans on 
me whether he would not sooner have lost his arms ? ‘ No, 
madam,’ said he, (and this, Monsieur le Comte, is the 
answer I give to your rebuke,) ‘ I want my hands to guard 
my heart.’” 

Finding our little knot was now broken up, I went 
into another part of the room, and joined Vincent, Lady 
Roseville, Ellen, and one or two other persons who were 
assembled round a table covered with books and prints. 
Ellen was sitting on one side of Lady Roseville ; there 
was a vacant chair next her, but I avoided it, and seated 
myself on the other side of Lady Roseville. 

“ Pray, Miss Glanville,” said Lord Vincent, taking up 
a thin volume, “do you greatly admire the poems of this 
lady ? ” 

“ What, Mrs. Hemans ? ” answered Ellen. “ I am more 
enchanted with her poetry than I can express : if that is 
‘ The Forest Sanctuary’ which you have taken up, I am 
sure you will bear me out in my admiration.” 

Vincent turned over the leaves with the quiet cynicism 
of manner habitual to him ; but his countenance grew 
animated after he had read two pages. “ This is, indeed, 
beautiful,” said he, “ really and genuinely beautiful. How 

singular that such a work should not be more known ! I 
10 * 


114 PELHAM; OR, 

never met with it before. But whose pencil-marks are 
these ? ” 

“ Mine, I believe,” said Ellen, modestly. 

And Lady Roseville turned the conversation upon 
Lord Byron. 

“ I must confess, for my part,” said Lord Edward 
Neville (an author of some celebrity and more merit), 
“that I am exceedingly weary of those doleful ditties 
with which we have been favored for so many years. No 
sooner had Lord Byron declared himself unhappy, than 
every young gentleman with a pale face and dark hair, 
thought himself justified in frowning in the glass and 
writing Odes to Despair. All persons who could scribble 
two lines were sure to make them into rhymes of ‘blight’ 
and ‘night.’ Never was there so grand a penchant for 
the triste .” 

“ It would be interesting enough,” observed Vincent, 
“to trace the origin of this melancholy mania. People 
are wrong to attribute it to poor Lord Byron — it cer- 
tainly came from Germany ; perhaps Werter was the first 
hero of that school.” 

“ There seems,” said I, “ an unaccountable prepossession 
among all persons, to imagine that whatever seems gloomy 
must be profound, and whatever is cheerful must be 
shallow. They have put poor Philosophy into deep 
mourning, and given her a coffin for a writing-desk, and 
a skull for an inkstand.” 

“ Oh,” cried Vincent, “ I remember some lines so ap- 
plicable to your remark, that I must forthwith interrupt 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


115 


you, in order to introduce them. Madame de Stael said, 
in one of her works, that melancholy was a source of 
perfection. Listen now to my author — 

‘Une femme nous dit, et nous prouve en effet, 

Qu’avant quelques mille ans l’homme sera parfait, 

Qu’il devra cet 6tat a la melancolie. 

On sail que la tristesse annonce Ic genie; 

Nous avons d6ja fait des progr&s tstonnans; 

Que de tristes Merits — que de tristes romans ! 

Des plus noires horreurs nous sommes idol&tres, 

Et la melancolie a gagne nos theatres.*”* 

“ What 1 ” cried I, “are you so well acquainted with 
my favorite book ? ” 

“Yours ! ” exclaimed Yincent. “ Gods, what a sympa- 
thy f ; it has long been my most familiar acquaintance ; 
but — 


My eye followed Vincent’s to ascertain the meaning of 
this question, and rested upon Glanville, who had that 
moment entered the room. I might have known that he 
was expected, by Lady Roseville’s abstraction, the rest- 
lessness with which she started at times from her seat, and 

*“A woman tells us, and in fact she proves, 

That man, though slowly, to perfection mores; 

But to be perfect, first we must be sad; 

Genius, we know, is melancholly mad. 

Already Time our startling progress hails ; 

What cheerless essays! — what disastrous tales! 

Horror has grown the amusement of the age, 

And Mirth despairing yawns, and flies the stage.” 
t La Gastronomie, Poeme, par J. Berchoux. 



“ ‘ Tell us what hath chanced to-da 
That Caesar looks so sad?’” 



116 


PELHAM; OR, 


as instantly resumed it ; and the fond expecting looks 
towards the door, every time it shut or opened, which 
denote so strongly the absent and dreaming heart of the 
woman who loves. 

Glanville seemed paler than usual, and perhaps even 
sadder ; but he was less distrait and abstracted ; no sooner 
did he see, than he approached me, and extended his hand 
with great cordiality. His hand ! thought I, and I could 
not bring myself to accept it ; I merely addressed him in 
the common-place salutation. He looked hard and in- 
quisitively at me, and then turned abruptly away. Lady 
Koseville had risen from her chair — her eyes followed 
him. He had thrown himself on a settee near the window. 
She went up to him, and sat herself by his side. I turned 
— my face burned — my heart beat — I was now next to 
Ellen Glanville; she was looking down, apparently em- 
ployed with some engravings, but I thought her hand 
trembled. 

There was a pause. Yincent was talking with the other 
occupiers of the table : a woman, at such times, is always 
the first to speak. “We have not seen you, Mr.'Pelham,” 
said Ellen, “since your return to town.” 

“ I have been very ill,” I answered, and I felt my voice 
falter. Ellen looked up anxiously at my face ; I could 
not brook those large, deep, tender eyes, and it now 
became my turn to occupy myself with the prints. 

“You do look pale,” she said, in a low voice. I did 
not trust myself with a further remark — dissimulator as 
I was to others, I was like a guilty child before the woman 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 117 

I ioved. There was another pause — at last Ellen said, 
“ How do you think my brother looks ? 

I started ; yes, he was her brother, and I was once more 
myself at that thought. I answered so coldly, and almost 
haughtily, that Ellen colored, and said with some dignity 
that she should join Lady Roseville. I bowed slightly, 
and she withdrew to the countess. I seized my hat and 
departed — but not utterly alone — I had managed to se- 
crete the book which Ellen’s hand had marked : through 
many a bitter day and sleepless night, that book has been 
my only companion : I have it before me now ; and it is 
open at a page which is yet blistered with the traces of 
former tears 1 


CHAPTER L X V 1 1 1. 

Our mistress is a little given to philosophy: what disputa- 
tions shall we have here by and by ? — Gil Blas. 

It was now but seldom that I met Ellen, for I went 
little into general society, and grew every day more en* 
grossed in political affairs. Sometimes, however, when, 
wearied of myself, and my graver occupations, I yielded 
to my mother’s solicitations, and went to one of the nightly 
haunts of the goddess we term Pleasure , and the Greeks 
Moria, the game of dissipation (to use a Spanish proverb) 
shuffled us together. It was then that I had the most 


118 


PELHAMJ OR, 


difficult task of my life to learn and to perform ; to check 
the lip — the eye — the soul — to heap curb on curb, upon 
the gushings of the heart, which daily and hourly yearned 
to overflow ; and to feel, that while the mighty and rest- 
less tides of passion were thus fettered and restrained, all 
within was a parched and arid wilderness, that wasted 
itself, for want of very moisture, away. Yet there was 
something grateful in the sadness with which I watched 
her form in the dance, or listened to her voice in the 
song ; and I felt soothed, and even happy, when my fancy 
flattered itself, that her step never now seemed so light, 
as it was wont to be when in harmony with mine, nor the 
songs that pleased her most, so gay as those that were 
formerly her choice. 

Distant and unobserved, I loved to feed my eyes upon 
her pale cheek and downcast eye ; to note the abstraction 
that came over her at moments, even when her glance 
seemed brightest, and her lip most fluent; and to know, 
that while a fearful mystery might for ever forbid the 
union of our hands, there was an invisible, but electric 
chain, which connected the sympathies of our hearts. 

Ah ! why is it, that the noblest of our passions should 
be also the most selfish ? — that while we would make all 
earthly sacrifice for the one we love, we are perpetually 
demanding a sacrifice in return ; that if we cannot have 
the rapture of blessing, we find a consolation in the power 
to afflict ; and that we acknowledge, while we reprobate, 
the maxim of the sage : “ L'on veut faire tout le bonheur , 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 110 


ou, si cela ne se peut ainsi, tout le malheur de ce qu’on 
aime. ” * 

The beauty of Ellen was not of that nature which rests 
solely upon the freshness of youth, nor even the magic of 
expression ; it was as faultless as it was dazzling ; no one 
could deny its excess or its perfection ; her praises came 
constantly to my ear, into whatever society I went. Say 
what we will of the power of love, it borrows greatly from 
opinion : pride, above all things, sanctions and strength- 
ens affection. When all voices were united to panegyrize 
her beauty, — when I knew, that the powers of her wit 
— the charms of her conversation — the accurate judg- 
ment, united to the sparkling imagination, were even 
more remarkable characteristics of her mind, than love- 
liness of her person, I could not but feel my ambition, as 
well as my tenderness, excited : I dwelt with a double in- 
tensity on my choice, and with a tenfold bitterness on the 
obstacle which forbade me to indulge it. 

Yet there was one circumstance, to which, in spite of 
all the evidence against Reginald, my mind still fondly 
and eagerly clung. In searching the pockets of the un- 
fortunate Tyrrell, the money he had mentioned to me as 
being in his possession, could not be discovered. Had 
Grlanville been the murderer, at all events he could not 
have been the robber. It was true that in the death scuffle, 
which in all probability took place, the money might have 
fallen from the person of the deceased, either among the 

* “ One wishes to make all the happiness, or, if that is forbidden. 
aV the unhappiness of the being we love.” 

2f 


120 


PELHAM; OR, 


long grass which grew rankly and luxuriantly around, or 
in the sullen and slimy pool, close to which the murder 
was perpetrated ; it was also possible, that Thornton, 
knowing that the deceased had so large a sum about him, 
and not being aware that the circumstance had been com- 
municated to me or any one else, might not have been 
able (when he and Dawson first went to the spot) to resist 
so great a temptation. However, there was a slight 
crevice in this fact, for a sunbeam of hope to enter, and I 
was too sanguine, by habitual temperament and present 
passion, not to turn towards it from the general darkness 
of my thoughts. 

With Glanville I was often brought into immediate 
contact. Both united in the same party, and engaged in 
concerting the same measures : we frequently met in public, 
and sometimes even alone. However, I was invariably 
cold and distant, and Glanville confirmed rather than 
diminished my suspicions, by making no commentary on 
my behavior, and imitating it in the indifference of his 
own. Yet, it was with a painful and aching heart, that 
I marked in his emaciated form and sunken cheek, the 
gradual, but certain progress of disease and death ; and 
while all England rang with the renown of the young, 
but almost unrivalled orator, and both parties united in 
anticipating the certaiuty and brilliancy of his success, I 
ielt how improbable it was, that, even if his crime escaped 
the unceasing vigilance of justice, this living world would 
long possess any traces of his genius but the remembrance 
of his name. There was something in his love of letters, 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


121 


his habits of luxury and expense, the energy of his mind 
— the solitude, the darkness, the hauteur, the reserve of 
his manners and life, which reminded me of the German 
Wallenstein ; nor was he altogether without the super- 
stition of that evil, but extraordinary man. It is true 
that he was not addicted to the romantic fables of astrol- 
ogy, but he was an earnest, though secret, advocate of 
the world of spirits. He did not utterly disbelieve the 
various stories of their return to earth and their visits to 
the living ; and it would have been astonishing to me, had 
I been a less diligent observer of human inconsistencies, 
to mark a mind, otherwise so reasoning and strong, in this 
respect so credulous and weak ; and to witness its reception 
of a belief, not only so adverse to ordinary reflection, but 
so absolutely contradictory to the philosophy it passion- 
ately cultivated, and the principles it obstinately espoused. 

One evening, I, Vincent, and Clarendon, were alone at 
Lady Roseville’s, when Reginald and his sister entered. 
I rose to depart; the beautiful Countess would not suffer 
it ; and when I looked at Ellen, and saw her blush at my 
glance, the weakness of my heart conquered, and I re- 
mained. 

Our conversation turned partly upon books, and prin- 
cipally on the science du coeur et du monde, for Lady 
Roseville was un peu philosophe, as well as more than 
un peu litteraire ; and her house, like those of the Du 
Deffands and D’Epinays of the old French regime, was 
one where serious subjects were cultivated, as well as the 
lighter ones ; where it was the mode to treat no less upon 

i r. — 11 


122 


PELHAM; OR, 


V 

things than to scandalize persons; and where maxims on 
men and reflections on manners were as much in their 
places, as strictures on the Opera and invitations to balls. 

All who were now assembled were more or less suited 
to one another ; all were people of the world, and yet 
occasional students of the closet ; but all had a different 
method of expressing their learning or their observations. 
Clarendon was dry, formal, shrewd, and possessed of the 
suspicious philosophy common to men hackneyed in the 
world. Vincent relieved his learning by the quotation or 
metaphor, or originality of some sort, with which it was 
expressed. Lady Roseville seldom spoke much, but when 
she did, it was rather with grace than solidity. She was 
naturally melancholy and pensive, and her observations 
partook of the colorings of her mind ; but she was also a 
dame de la cour, accustomed to conceal, and her lan- 
guage was gay and trifling, while the sentiments it clothed 
were pensive and sad. 

Ellen Glanville was an attentive listener, but a diffident 
speaker. Though her knowledge was even masculine 
for its variety and extent, she was averse from displaying 
it ; the childish, the lively, the tender, were the outward 
traits of her character — the flowers were above, but the 
mine was beneath; one noted the beauty of the first — 
one seldom dreamt of the value of the last. 

Glanville’s favorite method of expressing himself was 
terse and sententious. He did not love the labor of 
detail: he conveyed the knowdedge of years in an axiom. 
Sometimes he was fanciful, sometimes false ; but, gene* 
rally dark, melancholy, and bitter. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


123 


As for me, I entered more into conversation at Lady 
Roseville’s than I usually do elsewhere; being, accord- 
ing to my favorite philosophy, gay on the serious, and 
serious on the gay ; and, perhaps, this is a juster method 
of treating the two than would be readily imagined : for 
things which are usually treated with importance, are, 
for the most part, deserving of ridicule : and those which 
we receive as trifles, swell themselves into a consequence 
we little dreamt of, before they depart. 

Yincent took up a volume : it was Shelley’s Posthumous 
Poems. “ How fine,” said he, “some of these are ! but 
they are fine fragments of an architecture in bad taste : 
they are imperfect in themselves, and faulty in the school 
they belong to ; yet, such as they are, the master-hand 
is evident upon them. They are like the pictures of Paul 
Veronese — often offending the eye, often irritating tne 
judgment, but breathing of something vast and lofty — 
their very faults are majestic ; — this age, perhaps no 
other, will ever do them justice — but the disciples of 
future schools will make glorious pillage of their remains. 
The writings of Shelley would furnish matter for a hundred 
volumes ; they are an admirable museum of ill-arranged 
curiosities — they are diamonds awkwardly set; but one 
of them, in the hands of a skilful jeweller, would be in- 
estimable ; and the poet of the future will serve him as 
Mercury did the tortoise in his own translation from Homer 
— make him ‘sing sweetly when he’s dead ! 9 Their lyres 
will be made out of his shell.” 

“If I judge rightly,” said Clarendon, “his literary 


124 


peliiam; OR, 


faults were these ; he was too learned in his poetry, and 
too poetical in his learning. Learning is the bane of a 
poet. Imagine how beautiful Petrarch would be without 
his platonic conceits ; fancy the luxuriant imagination of 
Cowley, left to run wild among the lofty objects of nature, 
not the minute peculiarities of art. Even Milton, who 
made a more graceful and gorgeous use of learning, than, 
perhaps, any other poet, would have been far more popular 
if he had been more familiar. Poetry is for the multitude 

— erudition for the few. In proportion as you mix them, 
erudition will gain in readers, and poetry lose.” 

“True,” said Glanville ; “and thus the poetical, among 
philosophers, are the most popular of their time ; and the 
philosophical among poets, the least popular of theirs.” 

“Take care,” said Vincent, smiling, “that we are not 
misled by the point of your deduction ; the remark is true, 
but with a certain reservation, viz., that the philosophy 
which renders a poet less popular, must be the phiosophy 
of learning, not of wisdom. Wherever it consists in the 
knowledge of the plainer springs of the heart, and not 
in abstruse inquiry into its metaphysical and hidden sub- 
tleties, it necessarily increases the popularity of the poem ; 
because, instead of being limited to the few, it comes 
home to every one. Thus, it is the philosophy of Shak- 
speare, which puts him into every one’s hands and hearts 

— while that of Lucretius, wonderful poet as he is, makes 
us often throw down the book because it fatigues us with 
the scholar. Philosophy, therefore, only sins in poetry, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 125 

when, in the severe garb of learning, it becomes harsh 
and crabbed,’ and not ‘musical as is Apollo’s lute.’” 
“Alas I ” said I, “how much more difficult than of yore 
education is become ! formerly, it had only one object — 
to acquire learning ; and now, we have not only to acquire 
it, but to know what to do with it when we have — nay, 
there are not a few cases where the very perfection of 
learning will be to appear ignorant.” 

“Perhaps,” said Glanville, “the very perfection of 
wisdom may consist in retaining actual ignorance. Where 
was there ever the individual who, after consuming years, 
life, health, in the pursuit of science, rested satisfied with 
its success, or rewarded by its triumph ? Common sense 
tells us that the best method of employing life is to enjoy 
it. Common sense tells us, also, the ordinary means of 
this enjoyment ; health, competence, and the indulgence, 
but the moderate indulgence, of our passions. What 
have these to do with science ? ” 

“ I might tell you,” replied Vincent, “ that I myself 
have been no idle nor inactive seeker after the hidden 
treasures of mind ; and that, from my own experience, I 
could speak of pleasure, pride, complacency, in the pur- 
suit, that were no inconsiderable augmenters of my stock 
of enjoyment; but I have the candor to confess, also, that 
I have known disappointment, mortification, despondency 
of mind, and infirmity of body, that did more than balance 
the account. The fact is, in my opinion, that the indi- 
vidual is a sufferer for his toils, but then the mass is 

benefited by his success. It is we who reap, in idle 

11 * 


126 


P E L II A M J OR, 

gratification, what the husbandman has sown in the bitter- 
ness of labor. Genius did not save Milton from poverty 

and blindness — nor Tasso from the mad-house — nor Ga- 

♦ 

lileo from the inquisition ; they were the sufferers, but 
posterity the gainers. The literary empire reverses the 
political; it is not the many made for one — it is the 
oue made for many. Wisdom and Genius must have 
their martyrs as well as Religion, and with the same 
results, viz., semen ecclesice est sanguis martyrorum. 
And this reflection must console us for their misfortunes 

} 

for, perhaps, it was sufficient to console them. In the 
midst of the most affecting passage in the most wonder- 
ful work, perhaps, ever produced, for the mixture of 
universal thought with individual interest — I mean the 
last two cantos of Childe Harold — the poet warms from 
himself at his hopes of being remembered 

‘ In his line 

‘With his land’s language.’ 

And who can read the noble anti heart-speaking apology 
of Algernon Sydney, without entering into his consola- 
tion no less than his misfortunes ? Speaking of the law 
being turned into a snare instead of a protection, and 
instancing its uncertainty and danger in the times of 
Richard the Second, he says, ‘ God only knows what 
will be the issue of the like practices in these our days ; 
perhaps He will in his mercy speedily visit his afflicted 
people ; I die in the faith that he .will do it, though 1 
know not the time or uaysd” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


m 


" I love,” said Clarendon, “ the enthusiasm wliich places- 
comfort in so noble a source ; but, is vanity, think you, a 
less powerful agent than philanthropy ? Is it not the 
desire of shining before men that prompts us to whatever 
may effect it ? and if it can create, can it not also sup - 
port ? I mean, that if you allow that to shine, to dazzle, 
to enjoy praise, is no ordinary incentive to the com- 
mencement of great works, the conviction of future success 
for this desire becomes no inconsiderable reward. Grant, 
for instance, that this desire produced the ‘ Paradise 
Lost,’ and you will not deny that it might also support 
the poet through his misfortunes. Do you think that he 
thought rather of the pleasure his work should afford to 
posterity, than of the praises posterity should extend to 
his work ? Had not Cicero left us such frank confessions 
of himself, how patriotic, how philanthropic we should 
have esteemed him 1 Now we know both his motive and 
meed was vanity, may we not extend the knowledge of 
human nature which we have gained in this instance by 
applying it to others ? For my part, I should be loth to 
inquire how large a quantum of vanity mingled with the 
haughty patriotism of Sydney, or the unconquered soul 
of Cato.” 

Glativille bowed his head in approval. 

“ But,” observed I, ironically, u why be so uncharitable 
to this poor and- persecuted principle, since none of you 
deny the good and great actions it effects ; why stigmatize 
vanity as a vice, when it creates, or, at least, participates 
hi, so many virtues ? I wonder the ancients did not erect 


128 


PELHAM; OR, 


the choicest of their temples to its worship. As for me, 
I shall henceforth only speak of it as the primum mobile 
of whatever we venerate and admire, and shall think it 
the highest compliment I can pay to a man, to tell him 
he is eminently vain ! ” 

“ I incline to your opinion,” cried Vincent, laughing. 
“ The reason we dislike vanity in others, is because it is 
perpetually hurting our own. Of all passions (if for the 
moment I may call it such) it is the most indiscreet ; it is 
for ever blabbing out its own secrets. If it would but 
keep its counsel, it would be as graciously received in 
society, as any other well-dressed and well-bred intruder 
of quality. Its garrulity makes it despised. But in truth 
it must be clear, that vanity in itself is neither a vice nor 
a virtue, any more than this knife, in itself, is dangerous 
or useful ; the person who employs gives it its qualities : 
thus, for instance, a great mind desires to shine, or is vain, 
in great actions ; a frivolous one, in frivolities ; and so 
on through the varieties of the human intellect. But I 
cannot agree with Mr. Clarendon that my admiration of 
Algernon Sydney (Cato I never did admire) would be at 
all lessened by the discovery, that his resistance to tyran- 
ny in a great measure originated in vanity, or that the 
same vanity consoled him, when he fell a victim to that 
resistance; for what does it prove but this, that, among 
the various feelings of his soul, indignation at oppression 
(so common to all men) — enthusiasm for liberty, (so 
predominant in him) — the love of benefiting others — 
the noble pride of being, in death, consistent with him. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


129 


Belf ; among all these feelings, among a crowd of others 
equally honorable and pure — there was also one, and 
perhaps no inconsiderable feeling, of desire that his life 
and death should be hereafter appreciated justly ? Con- 
tempt of fame is the contempt of virtue. Never consider 
that vanity an offence which limits itself to wishing for 
the praise of good men for good actions ; ‘ next to our 
own esteem,’ says the best of the Roman philosophers, 
* it is a virtue to desire the esteem of others.’” 

“ By your emphasis on the word esteem ,” said Lady 
Roseville, “ I suppose you attach some peculiar importance 
to the word ? ” 

“ I do,” answered Vincent. “I use it in contra-distinc- 
tion to admiration. We may covet general admiration 
for a bad action — (for many bad actions have the clin- 
quant, which passes for real gold) — but one can expect 
general esteem only for a good one.” 

“ Rrom this distinction,” said Ellen, modestly, “ may 
we not draw an inference, which will greatly help us in 
our consideration of vanity ? may we not deem that vanity 
which desires only the esteem of others, to be invariably 
a virtue, and that which only longs for admiration to be 
frequently a vice ? ” 

“We may admit your inference,” said Vincent; “ and 
before I leave this question, I cannot help remarking 
upon the folly of-the superficial, who imagine, by studying 
human motivtes, hat philosophers wish to depreciate human 
action's. To direct our admiration to a proper point, is 
6urely not to destroy it : yet how angry inconsiderate 


130 


PELHAM} OK, 


enthusiasts are, when we assign real, in the place of exag- 
gerated feelings I Thus the advocates for the doctrine of 
utility — the most benevolent, because the most indulgent, 
of all philosophies — are branded with the epithets of 
selfish and interested ; decriers of moral excellence, and 
disbelievers in generous actions. Vice has no friend like 
the prejudices which call themselves virtue. Le pretexts 
ordinaire de ceux qui font le malheur des autres eat 

quails veulent leur bien. v * 

My eyes were accidentally fixed on Glanville as Vincent 
ceased ; he looked up, and colored faintly as he met my 
look; but he did not withdraw his own — keenly and 
steadily we gazed upon each other, till Ellen, turning 
round suddenly, remarked the unwonted meaning of our 
looks, and placed her hand in her brother’s, with a sort 
of fear. 

It was late ; he rose to withdraw, and passing me, said 
in a low tone, “A little while, and you shall knotf all. , ' 
I made no answer — he left the room with Ellen. 

“ Lady Roseville has had but a dull evening, I fear, 
with our stupid saws and ancient instances, ” said Vincent. 
The eyes of the person he addressed were fixed upon the 
joor ; I was standing close by her, and, as the words 
struck her ear, she turned abruptly ; — a tear fell upon 
my hand — she perceived it, and though I would not 
look upon her face , I saw that her very neck blushed ; 
but she, like me, if she gave way to feeling, had learned 
too deep a lesson from the world, not readily to resume 

* “ The ordinary pretext of those who make the misery of others 
is, that they wish their good.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


13\ 


her self-command ; she answered Yincent rallyinglv, upon 
his bad compliment to us, and received our adieus with 
all her customary grace, and more than her customary 
gaiety. 


CHAPTER LX IX. 

Ah ! Sir, had I but bestowed half the pains in learning a trade, 
that I have in learning to be a scoundrel, I might have been a rich 
man at this day ; but, rogue as I am, still I may be your friend, 
and that perhaps, when you least expect it. — Vicar of Wakefield. 

What with the anxiety and uncertainty of my political 
prospects, the continued whirlpool in which I lived, and 
above all, the unpropitious state of my belle passion, my 
health gave way ; my appetite forsook me — my sleep 
failed me — I lost my good looks, and my mother declared, 
that I "should have no chance with an heiress; all these 
circumstaneesntogether were not without their weight. 
So I set out one morning to Hampton Court, for the 
benefit of the country air. 

It is by no means an unpleasant thing to turn one’s 
back upon the great city in the height of its festivities. 
Misanthropy is a charming feeling for a short time, and 
one inhales the country, and animadverts on the town, 
with the most melancholy satisfaction in the world. I 
sat myself down at a pretty little cottage, a mile out of 
the town. From the window of my drawing-room I re- 
velled in the luxurious contemplation of three pigs, one 


132 


PELHAM; OR, 

cow, and a straw yard ; and I could get to the Thames 
in a walk of five minutes, by a short cut through a lime- 
kiln. Such pleasing opportunities of enjoying the beauties 
of nature, are not often to be met with : you may be sure, 
therefore, that I made the most of them. I rose early, 
walked before breakfast, for my health, and came back 
with a most satisfactory headache, for my pains. I read 
for just three hours, walked for two more, thought over 
Abernethy, dyspepsia, and blue pills, till dinner ; and 
absolutely forgot Lord Dawton, ambition, Guloseton, 
epicurism — ay, all but — of course, reader, you know 
whom I am a, bout to except, — the ladye of my love. 

One bright, laughing day, I threw down my book an 
hour sooner than usual, and sallied out with a lightness 
of foot and exhilaration of spirit, to which I had long 
been a stranger. I had just sprung over a stile that led 
into one of those green shady lanes, which make us feel 
that the old poets who loved, and lived for nature, were 
right in calling our island “ the merry England ” — when 
I was startled by a short, quick bark, on one side of the 
hedge. I turned sharply round ; and, seated upon the 
sward, was a man, apparently of the pedlar profession ; a 
large deal box ‘was lying open before him ; a few articles 
of linen, and female dress, were scattered round, and the 
man himself appeared earnestly occupied in examining the 
deeper recesses of his itinerant warehouse. A small 
black terrier flew towards me with no friendly growl. 
“Down,” said I: “all strangers are not foes — though 
the English generally think so.” 




ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 133 

The man hastily looked np ; perhaps he was struck 
with the quaintness of my remonstrance to his canine 
companion ; for, touching his hat, civilly, he said — “ The 
dog, Sir, is very quiet ; he only means to give me the 
alarm by giving it to you; for dogs seem to have no 
despicable insight into human nature, and know well that 
the best of us may be taken by surprise.” 

“ You are a moralist,” said I, not a little astonished in 
my turn by such an address from such a person. “ I could 
not hav-e expected to stumble upon a philosopher so easily. 
Have you any wares in your box likely to suit me ? if so, 
I should like to purchase of so moralizing a vender 1 ” 
“No, Sir,” said the seeming pedlar, smiling, and yet 

at the same time hurrying his goods into his box, and 

* 

carefully turning the key — “no, Sir, I am only a bearer 
of other men’s goods ; my morals are all that I can call 
my own, and those I will sell you at your own price.” 

“ You are candid, my friend,” said I, “ and your frank 
ness, alone, would be inestimable in this age of deceit, 
and country of hypocrisy.” 

“Ah, Sir ! ” said my new acquaintance, “ I see already 
that you are one of those persons who look to the dark 
side of things ; for my part, I think the present age the 
best that ever existed, and our own country the most 
virtuous in Europe.” 

“I congratulate you, Mr. Optimist, on your opinions,” 
quoth I ; “ but your observation leads me to suppose, 
that you are both an historian and a traveller : am I 
right ? ’ 

IT. — 12 


134 


PELHAM; OR, 


“Why,” answered the box-bearer, “ I have dabbled a 
little in books, and wandered not a little among men. I 
am just returned from Germany, and am now going to my 
friends in London. I am charged with this box of goods : 
Heaven send me the luck to deliver it safe ! ” 

“Amen,” said I ; “ and with that prayer and this trifle, 
I wish you a good morning.” 

“Thank you a thousand times, Sir, for both,” replied 
the man — “ but do add to your favors by informing me 
of the right road to the town of * * * *.” 

“ I am going in that direction myself : if you choose to 
accompany me part of the way, I can ensure your not 
missing the rest.” 

“ Your honor is too good ! ” returned he of the box, 
rising, and slinging his fardel across him — “it is but 
seldom that a gentleman of your rank will condescend to 
walk three paces with one of mine. You smile, Sir ; 
perhaps you think I should not class myself among gen- 
tlemen ; and yet I have as good a right to the name as 
most of the set. I belong to no trade — I follow no calling : 
I rove where I list, and rest where I please : in short, I 
know no occupation but my indolence, and no law but my 
will. Now, Sir, may I not call myself a gentleman ? ” 
“Of a surety ! ” quoth I. “You seem to me to hold 
a middle rank between a half-pay captain and the king of 
the gipsies.” 

“ You have hit -it, Sir,” rejoined my companion, with a 
slight laugh. He was now by my side, and as we walked 
on, I had leisure more minutely to examine him. He was 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 13^ 

a middle-sized, and rather athletic man, apparently about 
the age of thirty-eight. He was attired in a dark-blue 
frock coat, which was neither shabby nor new, but ill made, 
and much too large and long for its present possessor ; 
beneath this was a faded velvet waistcoat, that had former 
ly, like the Persian ambassador’s tunic, “ blushed with 
crimson, and blazed with gold ; ” but which might now 
have been advantageously exchanged in Monmouth-street 
for the lawful sum of two shillings and ninepence ; under 
this was an inner vest of the cashmere shawl pattern, 
which seemed much too new for the rest of the dress. 
Though his shirt was of a very unwashed hue, I remarked 
with some suspicion, that it was of a very respectable fine- 
ness ; and a pin, which might be paste, or could be dia- 
mond, peeped below a tattered and dingy black kid stock, 
like a gipsy’s eye beneath her hair. 

His trowsers were of a light grey, and the justice of 
Providence, or of the tailor, avenged itself upon them, for 
the prodigal length bestowed upon their ill-assorted com- 
panion, the coat ; for they were much too tight for the 
muscular limbs they concealed, and, rising far above the 
ankle, exhibited the whole of a thick Wellington boot, 
which was the very picture of Italy upon the map. 

The face of the man was common-place and ordinary ; 
one sees a hundred such, every day, in Fleet-street or on 
the ’Change ; the features were small, irregular, and some- 
what flat: yet when you looked twice upon the counte- 
nance, there was something marked and singular in the 

expression, which fully atoned for the commonness of the 

2g 


136 


PELHAM; OR, 


features. The right eye turned away from the left, in that 
watchful squint which seems constructed on the same 
considerate plan as those Irish guns, made for shooting 
round a corner ; his eye-brows were large and shaggy, and 
greatly resembled bramble bushes, in whicn his fox-like 
eyes had taken refuge. Round these vulpine retreats was 
a labyrinthean maze of those wrinkles, vulgarly called 
crow’s-feet ; deep, intricate, and intersected., they seemed 
for all the world like the web of a Chancery suit. Singular 
enough, the rest of the countenance was perfectly smooth 
and unindented ; even the lines from the nostril to the 
corners of the mouth, usually so deeply traced in men of 
his age, were scarcely more apparent than in a boy of 
eighteen. 

His smile was frank — his voice clear and hearty — his 
address open, and much superior to his apparent rank of 
life, claiming somewhat of equality, yet conceding a great 
deal of respect ; but, notwithstanding all these certainly 
favorable points, there was a sly and cunning expression 
in his perverse and vigilant eye and all the wrinkled 
demesnes in its vicinity, that made me mistrust even while 
I liked my companion ; perhaps, indeed, he was too frank, 
too familiar, too degage, to be quite natural. Your honest 
men may soon buy reserve by experienee. Rogues are 
communicative and open, because confidence and openness 
costs them nothing. To finish the description of my new 
acquaintance, I should observe that there was something 
in his countenance, which struck me as not wholly un- 
familiar ; it was one of those which we have not, in all 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 137 

human probability, seen before, and yet, which (perhaps, 
from their very commonness) we imagine we have encoun- 
tered a hundred times. 

We walked on briskly, notwithstanding the warmth o f 
the day ; in fact, the air was so pure, the grass so green, 
the laughing noon-day so full of the hum, the motion, and 
the life of creation, that the feeling produced was rather 
that of freshness and invigoration than of languor and 
heat. 

“ We have a beautiful country, Sir,” said my hero of 
the box. “ It is like walking through a garden, after the 
more sterile and sullen features of the Continent. A pure 
mind, Sir, loves the country ; for my part, I am always 
disposed to burst out in thanksgiving to Providence when 
I behold its works, and like the valleys in the psalm, I 
am ready to laugh and sing.” 

“An enthusiast,” said I, “as well as a philosopher 1 
perhaps (and I believed it likely), I have the honor of 
addressing a poet also.” 

“Why, Sir,” replied the man, “ I have made verses in 
my life ; in short, there is little I have not done, for I 
was always a lover of variety ; but, perhaps, your honor 
will let me return the suspicion. Are you not a favorite 
of the muse ? ” 

“I canuot say that I am,” said I. “I value myself 
only on my common sense — the very antipodes to genius, 
you know, according to the orthodox belief.” 

“ Common sense ! ” repeated my companion, with a 
singular and meaning smile, and a twinkle with his left 
12 * 


133 


PELHAM; OR, 


eve. “ Common sense ! Ah, that is not my forte , Sir. 
You, I dare say, are one of those gentlemen whom it is 
very difficult to take in, either passively or actively, by 
appearance, or in act ? For my part, I have been a 
dupe all my life — a child might cheat me! I am the 
most unsuspicious person in the world.” 

“ Too candid by half,” thought I. “ The man is 
certainly a rascal : but what is that to me ? I shall never 
see him again : ” and, true to my love of never losing 
sight of an opportunity of ascertaining individual cha- 
racter, I observed that I thought such an acquaintance 
very valuable, especially if he were in trade ; it was a 
pity, therefore, for my sake, that my companion had in- 
formed me that he followed no calling. 

“ Why, Sir,” said he, “ I am, occasionally, in employ- 
ment ; my nominal profession is that of a broker. I buy 
shawls and handkerchiefs of poor countesses, and retail 
them to rich plebeians. I fit up new-married couples 
with linen, at a more moderate rate than the shops, and 
procure the bridegroom his present of jewels, at forty per 
cent, less than the jewellers ; nay, I am as friendly to an 
intrigue as a marriage ; and when I cannot sell my jewels, 
I will my good offices. A gentleman so handsome as 
your honor, may have an affair upon your hands : if so, 
you may rely upon my secrecy and zeal. In short, I am 
an innocent, good-natured fellow, who does harm to no 
one for nothing, and good to every one for something.” 
“I admire your code,” quoth I, “and whenever I want 
a mediator between Venus and myself, will employ you. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


139 


Have you always followed your present idle profession, 
or were you brought up to any other ? ” 

“ I was intended for a silversmith,” answered my friend, 
but Providence willed it otherwise ; they taught me 
from childhood to repeat the Lord’s prayer; Heaven 
heard me, and delivered me from temptation — there is, 
indeed, something terribly seducing in the face of a silver 
spoon ! ” 

“Well,” said I, “you are the honestest knave I ever 
met, and one would trust you with one’s purse for the 
ingenuousness with which you own you would steal it. 
Pray, think you it is probable that I have ever had the 
happiness to meet you before ? I cannot help fancying 
so — yet as I have never been in the watch-house, or 
the Old Bailey, my reason tells me that I must be mistaken.” 
“ Not at all, Sir,” returned my worthy : “ I remember 
you well, for I never saw a face like yours that I did not 
remember. I had the honor of sipping some British 
liquors in the same room with yourself, one evening ; 
you were then in company with my friend Mr. Gordon.” 

“ Ha 1 ” said I, “ 1 thank you for the hint. I now 
remember well, by the same token, he told me that you 
were the most ingenious gentleman in England ; and that 
you had a happy propensity of mistaking other people’s 
possessions for your own. I congratulate myself upon 
so desirable an acquaintance.” — 

My friend, who was indeed no other than Mr. Job 
Jonson, smiled with his usual blandness, and made me a 
low bow of acknowledgment before he resumed: — 


l 


140 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ No doubt, Sir, Mr. Gordon informed you right. 1 
datter myself few gentlemen understand better than my- 
self, the art of appropriation ; though I say it who 
should not say it, I deserve the reputation I have ac- 
quired. Sir, I have always had ill fortune to struggle 
against, and have always remedied it by two virtues — • 
perseverance and ingenuity. To give you an idea of my 
ill fortune, know that I have been taken up twenty-three 
times on suspicion ; of my perseverance, know that twenty- 
three times I have been taken up justly ; and of my 
ingenuity, know that I have been twenty-three times 
let off, because there was not a tittle of legal evidence 
against me ! ” 

“I venerate your talents, Mr. Jonson,” replied I, “if 
by the name of Jonson it pleaseth you to be called, 
although, like the heathen deities, I presume that you 
have many titles, whereof some are more grateful to your 
ears than others.” 

“Nav answered the man of two virtues — “ I am never 
ashamed of my name ; indeed, I have never done any 
thing to disgrace me. I have never indulged in low 
company, nor profligate debauchery ; whatever I have 
executed by way of profession, has been done in a su- 
perior and artist-like manner; not in the rude bungling 
fashion of other adventurers. Moreover, I have always 
bad a taste for polite literature, and went once as an ap- 
prentice to a publishing bookseller, for the sole purpose 
of reading the new works before they came out. In fine, 
I have never neglected any opportunity of improving my 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 141 

mind ; and the worst that can be said against me is, that 
I have remembered my catechism, and taken all possible 
pains ‘ to learn and labor truly, to get my living, and do 
my duty in that state of life, to which it has pleased 
Providence to call me.’” 

“ I have often heard,” answered I, “ that there is honor 
among thieves ; I am happy to learn from you, that there 
is also religion : your baptismal sponsors must be proud 
of so diligent a godson.” 

“They ought to be, Sir,” replied Mr. Jonson, “for I 
gave them the first specimens of my address : the story is 
long, but if you ever give me an opportunity, I will 
relate it.” 

“ Thank you,” said I ; “ meanwhile I must wish you a 
good morning ; your road now lies to the right. I return 
you my best thanks for your condescension in accompany- 
ing so undistinguished an individual as myself.” 

“ Oh never mention it, your honor,” rejoined Mr. 
Jonson. “I am always too happy to walk with a gen- 
tleman of your ‘common sense.’ Farewell, Sir; may we 
meet again.” 

So saying, Mr. Jonson struck into his new road and 
we parted. * 

I went home, musing on my adventure, and delighted 
with my adventurer. When I was about three paces from 
the door of my home, I was accosted, in a most pitiful 

* If any one should think this sketch from nature exaggerated, 
I refer him to the “Memoirs of James Hardy Vaux.” 


142 


PELHAM; OR, 

tone, by a poor old beggar, apparently in the last extreme 
of misery and disease. Notwithstanding my political 
economy, I was moved into alms-giving by a spectacle so 
wretched. I put my hand into my pocket, my purse was 
gone ; and, on searching the other, lo — my handkerchief, 
my pocket-book, and a gold locket, which had belonged 
to Madame d’Anville, had vanished too. 

One does not keep company with men of two virtues, 
and receive compliments upon one’s common sense, for 
nothing ! 

The beggar still continued to importune me. 

“ Give him some food and half a crown,” said I, to my 
landlady. Two hours afterwards, she came up to me 
— “ Oh, Sir, my silver tea-pot — that villain the beggar !” 

A light flashed upon me — “Ah, Mr. Job Jonson ! Mr. 
Job Jonson!” cried I, in an indescribable rage; “out 
of my sight, woman 1 out of my sight ! ” I stopped short ; 
my speech failed me. Never tell me that shame is the 
companion of guilt — the sinful knave is never so ashamed 
of himself as is the innocent fool who suffers by him 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 143 


CHAPTER L XX. 

Then must I plunge again into the crowd, 

And follow all that peace disdains to seek. — Byron. 

In the quiet of my retreat I remained for eight days — 
during which time I never looked once at a newspaper 
— imagine how great was my philosophy ! On the ninth, 
I began to think it high time for me to hear from Dawton ; 
and finding that I had eaten two rolls for breakfast, and 
that certain untimely wrinkles began to assume a more 
mitigated appearance, I bethought me once more of the 
“ Beauties of Babylon.” 

While I was in this kindly mood towards the great city 
and its inhabitants, my landlady put two letters in my 
hand — one was from my mother, the other from Gruloseton. 
I opened the latter first ; it ran thus — . 

“ Dfar Pelham, 

“ I was very sorry to hear you had left town — and so 
unexpectedly too. I obtained your address at Mivart’s, 
and hasten to avail myself of it. Pray come to town 
immediately. I have received some chevreuil as a present, 
and long for your opinion ; it is too nice to keep : for all 
things nice were made but to grow bad when nicest : as 
Moore, I believe, says of flowers, substituting sweet and 
fleetest, for bad and nicest ; so, you see, you mqst come 
without loss of time. 


-IN 


U 4 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ But you , my friend — bow can you possibly have 
been spending your time ? I was kept awake all last night, 
by thinking what you could have for dinner. Fish is out 
of the question in the country ; chickens die of the pip 
everywhere but in London : game is out of season ; it is 
impossible to send to Giblett’s for meat ; it is equally im- 
possible to get it anywhere else ; and as for the only two 
natural productions of the country, vegetables and eggs, 
I need no extra ordinary penetration to be certain that 
your cook cannot transmute the latter into an omelette 
aux huitres, nor the former into legumes d la. crime. 

“Thus you see, by a series of undeniable demonstra- 
tions, you must absolutely be in a state of starvation. At 
this thought, tears rush into my eyes : for Heaven’s sake, 
for my sake, for your own sake, but above all , for the 
sake of the chevreuil, hasten to London. I figure you 
to myself in the last stage of atrophy — airy as a trifle, 
thin as the ghost of a greyhound. 

“I need say no more on the subject. I may rely on 
your own discretion to procure me the immediate pleasure 
of your company. Indeed, were I to dwell longer on your 
melancholy situation, my feelings would overcome me. — 
Mais revenons d nos moutons : (a most pertinent phrase, 
by the bye — oh 1 the French excel us in everything, from 
the paramount science of cookery, to the little art of con- 
versation.) 

“You must tell me your candid, your unbiassed, your 
deliberate opinion of chevreuil. For my part, I should 
not wonder at tbe mythology of the northern heathen 


ADVENTURES OF A GEN L 1 LEM AN. 145 

nations, which places hunting among the chief enjoyments 
of their heaven, were chevreuil the object of their chase ; 
but nihil est omni parte beatum ; — it wants fat, my dear 
Pelham, it wants fat : nor do I see how to remedy this 
defect; for were we by art to supply the fat, we should 
deprive ourselves of the flavor bestowed by nature ; and 
this, my dear Pelham, was always my great argument for 
liberty. Cooped, chained, and confined in cities, and 
slavery, all things lose the fresh and generous tastes, which 
it is the peculiar blessing of freedom and the country to 
' afford. 

“ Tell me, my friend, what has been the late subject of 
your reflections ? My thoughts have dwelt, much and 
seriously, on the * terra incognita, ’ the undiscovered tracts 
in the pays culinaire, which the profoundest investigators 

have left untouched and unexplored in veal. But 

more of this hereafter; — the lightness of a letter is ill 
suited to the depths of philosophical research. 

“ Lord Dawton sounded me upon my votes yesterday. 
‘A thousand pities too,’ said he, ‘ that you never speak in 
the House of Lords.’ — * Orator fit,’ said I — * orators are 
subject to apoplexy .’ 

“Adieu, my dear friend, for friend you are, if the philo- 
sopher was right in defining true friendship to consist in 
liking and disliking the same things. You hate parsnips 
aa nalurel — so do I ; you love pates de foie gras, et 
moi an s si ; — nous voUcl done les meilleurs amis du 
mondef 

“ Guloskten.” 


II.— 13 


i46 


PELHAM; OR, 


So much for my friend, thought I — and now for my 
mother — opening the maternal epistle, which I herewith 
transcribe : — 

“My dear Henry, 

“Lose no time in coming to town. Every day the 
ministers are filling up the minor places, and it requires a 
great stretch of recollection in a politician to remember 

the absent. Mr. Y said yesterday, at a dinner party 

where I was present, that Lord Dawton had promised 

him the Borough of . Now you know, my dear 

Henry, that was the very borough he promised to you : 
you must see further into this. Lord Dawton is a good 
sort of man enough, but refused once to fight a duel ; 
therefore, if he has disregarded his honor in one instance, 
he may do so in another : at all events, you have no time 
to lose. 

“ The young Duke of gives a ball to-morrow 

evening : Mrs. pays all the expenses, and I know 

for a certainty that she will marry him in a week ; this as 
yet is a secret. There will be a great mixture, but the 
ball will be worth going to. I have a card for you. 

“ Lady Huffemall and I think that we shall not patron- 
ze the future duchess ; but have not yet made up our 
minds. Lady Roseville, however, speaks of the intended 
match with great respect, and says that since we admit 
convenance , as the chief rule in matrimony, she never re- 
members an instance in which it has been more consulted. 

“ There are to be several promotions in the peerage. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 147 


Lord ’s friends wish to give out that he will have a 

dukedom ; mais fen doute. However, he has well de- 
served it ; for he not only gives the best dinners in town, 
but the best account of them in the Morning Post after* 
wards ; which I think is very properly upholding the 
dignity of our order. 

“I hope most earnestly that you do not (in your country 
retreat) neglect your health ; nor, I may add, your mind ; 
and that you take an opportunity every other day of 
practising waltzing, which you can very well do with the 
help of an arm-chair. I would send you down (did I not 

expect you here so soon) Lord Mount E ’s ‘ Musical 

Reminiscences not only because it is a very entertaining 
book, but because I wish you to pay much greater atten- 
tion to music than you seem inclined to do. * * * * who 
is never very refined in his bons mots,, says that Lord M. 
seems to have considered the world a concert, in which 
the best performer plays first fiddle. It is, indeed, quite 
delightful to see the veneration our musical friend has for 
the orchestra and its occupants. I wish to heaven, my 
dear Henry, he could instil into you a little of his ardor. 
I am quite mortified at times by your ignorance of tunes 
and operas : nothing tells better in conversation than a 
knowledge of music, as you will one day or other discover. 

“ God bless you, my dearest Henry. Fully expecting 
you, I have sent to engage your former rooms at Mivart’s ; 
do not let me be disappointed. 

“ Yours, &c. 

“ F. P.” 


148 


PELHAM; OR, 


I read the above letter twice over, and felt my cheek 
glow and my heart swell as T perused the passage relative 
to Lord Dawton and the borough. The new minister 
had certainly, for some weeks since, been playing a double • 
part with me : it would long ago have been easy to procure 
me a subordinate situation — still easier to place me in 
parliament; yet he had contented himself with doubtful 
promises and idle civilities. What, however, seemed to 
me most unaccountable was, his motive in breaking or 
paltering with his engagement ; he knew that I had served 
him and his party better than half his corps : he pro- 
fessed, not only to me, but to society, the highest opinion 
of my abilities, knowledge, and application ; he saw, con- 
sequently, how serviceable I could be as a friend ; and, 
from the same qualities, joined to the rank of my birth 
and connections, and the high and resentful temper of my 
mind, he might readily augur that I could be equally 
influential as a foe. 

With this reflection, I stilled the beating of my heart, 
and the fever of my pulse. I crushed the obnoxious letter 
in my hand, walked thrice up and down the room, paused 
at the bell — rang it violently — ordered post-horses 
instantly, and in less than an hour was on the road to 
London. 

How different is the human mind, according to the 
diffeience of place ! In our passions, as in our creeds, 
we are the mere dependants of geographical situation. 
Nay, the trifling variation of a single mile will revolution- 
ize the whole tides and torrents of our hearts. The man 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 149 

who is meek, generous, benevolent, and kind, in the coun- 
try, enters the scene of contest, and becomes forthwith 
fiery or mean, selfish or stern, just as if the virtues were 
only for solitude, and the vices for the city. I have ill 
expressed the above reflection ; nHmporte — so much the 
better shall I explain my feelings at the time I speak of 
— for I was then too eager and engrossed to attend to 
the niceties of words. On my arrival at Mivart’s, I 
scarcely allowed myself time to change my dress before 
I set out to Lord Dawton. He shall afford me an ex- 
planation, I thought, or a recompense, or a revenge. I 
knocked at the door — the minister was out. “ Give him 
this card,” said I to the porter, “ and say 1 shall call to- 
morrow at three.” 

I walked to Brookes’s — there I met Mr. Y . My 

acquaintance with him was small j but he was a man of 
talent, and, what was more to my purpose, of open man- 
ners. I went up to him, and we entered into conversation 
“Is it true,” said I, “that I am to congratulate you upon 
the certainty of your return for Lord Dawton’s borough 

of ?” 

“ I believe so,” replied Y . “ Lord Dawton engaged 

it to me last week, and Mr. H , the present member, 

has accepted the Chiltern Hundreds. You know all oui 
family supported Lord Dawton warmly in the present 
crisis and my return for this borough was materially in- 
sisted upon. Such things are, you see, Mr. Pelham, even 
in these virtuous days of parliamentary purity.” 


13 * 


.50 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ True, ” said I, dissembling my chagrin, “yourself and 
Dawton have made an admirable exchange. Think you 
the ministry can be said to be fairly seated ? ” 

“By no means; everything depends upon the motion 

of , brought on next week. Dawton looks to that as 

to the decisive battle for this session.” 

Lord Gavelton now joined us, and I sauntered away 
with the utmost (seeming) indifference. At the top of 
St. James’s -street, Lady Roseville’s well-known carriage 
passed me — she stopped for a moment. “We shall 

meet at the Duke of ’s to-night,” said she, “shall 

we not ? ” 

“ If you go — certainly,” I replied. 

I went home to my solitary apartment ; and if I suffered 
somewhat of the torments of baffled hope and foiled am- 
bition, the pang is not for the spectator. My lighter 
moments are for the world — my deeper for myself; and, 
like the Spartan boy, I would keep even in the pangs of 
death, a mantle over the teeth and fangs which were fas- 
tening upon my breast. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


151 


CHAPTER L XX I. 

Nocet empta dolore voluptas . — 1 

The first person I saw at the Duke of ’s was Mr. 

Mivart — he officiated as gentleman usher: the second 
was my mother — she was, as usual, surrounded by men, 
“ the shades of heroes that have been,” remnants of a 
former day, when the feet of the young and fair Lady 
Frances were as light as her head, and she might have 
rivalled, in the science de la danse, even the graceful 

Duchess of B d. Over the dandies of her own time 

she still preserved her ancient empire ; and it was amusing 
enough to hear the address of the ci-devant jeunes hommes 
who continued, through habit, the compliments begun 
thirty years since through admiration. 

My mother was, indeed, what the world calls a very 
charming, agreeable woman. Few persons were more 
popular in society: her manners were perfection — her 
6mile enchantment : she lived, moved, breathed, only for 
the world, and the world was not ungrateful for the con- 
stancy of her devotion. Yet, if her letters have given 
my readers any idea of her character, they will perceive 
that the very desire of supremacy in ton, gave (Heaven 
forgive my filial impiety !) a sort of demi-vulgarisra to 

her ideas ; for they who live wholly for the opinion of 

2h 


*152 


PELHAM J OR, 


others, alwa} T s want that self-dignity which alone confers 
a high cast upon the sentiments ; and the most really 
unexceptionable in mode, are frequently the least gen- 
uinely patrician in mind. 

I joined the maternal party, and Lady Frances soon 
took an opportunity of whispering, “You are looking 
very well, and very handsome ; I declare you are not 
unlike me, especially about the eyes. I have just heard 
that Miss Glanville will be a great heiress, for poor Sir 
Reginald cannot live much longer. She is here to-night : 
pray do not lose the opportunity.” 

My cheek burned like fire at this speech, and my 
mother, quietly observing that I had a beautiful color, 
and ought therefore immediately to find out Miss Glan- 
ville, lest it should vanish by the least delay, turned from 
me to speak of a public breakfast about shortly to be 
given. I passed into the dancing-room ; there I found 
Vincent ; he was in unusually good spirits. 

“Well,” said he, with a sneer, “you have not taken 
your seat yet. I suppose Lord Dawton’s representative, 
whose place you are to supply, is like Theseus ; sedet in 
ceternumque sedebit. A thousand pities you can’t come 
in before next week ; we shall then have fiery motions 
in the Lower House , as the astrologers say.” 

I smiled. 11 Ah mon cher /” said I, “Sparta hath 
many a worthier son than me! Meanwhile, how get on,, 
the noble Lords Lesborough and Lincoln ? ‘ sure such a 
pair were never seen, so justly formed to meet by nature ! ’ ” 
“Pooh!” said Vincent, coarsely, “they shall get 


On 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


153 


well enough, before you get in. Look to yourself, and 
remember that ‘Caesar plays the ingrate.’” 

Yincent turned away ; my eyes were riveted on the 

ground ; the beautiful Lady passed by me : “ What, 

you in a reverie ? ” said she, laughing ; “ our very host 
wil'. turn thoughtful next 1 ” 

“Nay,” said I, “in your absence would you have me 
glad ? However, if Moore’s mythology be true — Beauty 
loves Folly the better for borrowing something from 
Heason ; but, come, this is a place not for the grave, but 
the giddy. Let us join the waltzers.” 

“I am engaged.” 

“I know it 1 Do you think I would dance with any 
woman who was not engaged? — there would be no 
triumph to one’s vanity in that case. Allons, you must 
prefer me to an engagement ; ” and so saying, I led oil 
my prize. 

Her intended partner was Mr. Y ; just as we had 

joined the dancers, he spied us out, and approached with 
his long, serious, respectful face : the music struck up, 

and the next moment poor Y was very nearly struck 

down. Fraught with the most political spite, I whirled 
up against him ; apologized with my blandest smile, and 
left him wiping his mouth, and rubbing his shoulder, the 
most forlorn picture of Hope in adversity, that can pos 
sibly be conceived. 

] soon grew weary of my partner, and, leaving her to 
fate, rambled into another room. There, seated alone, 
was Lady Roseville. I placed myself beside her ; thero 


154 


PELHAM; OR, 

was a sort of freemasonry between her and myself ; each 
knew something more of the other than the world did, 
and read his or her heart, by other signs than words. I 
soon saw that she was in no mirthful mood : so much the 
better — she was the fitter companion for a baffled aspirant 
like me. 

The room we were in was almost deserted, and finding 
ourselves uninterrupted, the stream of our conversation 
flowed into sentiment. 

“How little,” said Lady Roseville, “can the crowd 
know of the individuals who compose it 1 As the most 
opposite colors may be blended into one, and so lose their 
individual hues, and be classed under a single name, so 
every one here will go home, and speak of the * gay 
scene, 1 without thinking for a moment, how many breaking 
hearts may have composed it.” 

“I have often thought,” said I, “how harsh we are 
in our judgments of others — how often we accuse those 
persons of being worldly, who merely seem so to the 
world. Who, for instance, that saw you in your brightest 
moments, would ever suppose that you could make the 
confession you have just made ? ” 

“ I would not make such a confession to many besido 
yourself,” answered Lady Roseville. “Nay, you need 
not thank me. I am some years older than you ; I have 
lived longer in the world ; I have seen much of its various 
characters ; and my experience has taught me to penetrate 
and prize a character like yours. While you seem frivolous 
to the superficial, I know you to have a mind not oidy 


i 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 155 

capable of the most solid and important affairs, but 
habituated by reflection to consider them. You appear 
effeminate, I know that none are more daring — indolent, 
none are more actively ambitious — utterly selfish, and I 
know that no earthly interest could bribe you into mean- 
ness or injustice — no, nor even into a venial dereliction 
of principle. It is from this estimate of your character, 
that I am frank and open to you. Besides, I recognize 
something in the careful pride with which you conceal 
your higher and deeper feelings, resembling the strongest 
actuating principle in my own mind. All this interests 
me warmly in your fate ; may it be as bright as my pre- 
sentiments forebode 1 ” 

I looked into the beautiful face of the speaker as she 
concluded ; perhaps, at that solitary moment, my heart 
was unfaithful to Ellen ; but the infidelity passed away 
like the breath from the mirror. Coxcomb as I was, I 
knew well how passionless was the interest expressed for 
me. Rover as I had been, I knew also, how pure may 
be the friendship of a woman , — provided she loves 
another! 

I thanked Lady Roseville, warmly, for her opinion. 
“Perhaps,” I added, “dared I solicit your advice, you 
would not find me wholly undeserving of your esteem.” 

“My advice,” answered Lady Roseville, “would be, 
milled, worse than useless, were it not regulated by a 
certain knowledge which, perhaps, you do not possess. 
You seem surprised. Eh Men ; listen to me — are you 
not in no small degree lie with Lord Dawton ? — do you 


156 PELHAM; OR, 

not expect something from him worthy of your rank and 
merit ? ” 

“You do, indeed, surprise me,” said I. “However 
close my connection with Lord Dawton may be, I thought 
it much more secret than it appears to be. However, I 
own that I have a right to expect from Lord Dawton, 
not, perhaps, a recompense of service, but, at least, a 
fulfilment of promises. In this expectation I begin to 
believe I shall be deceived.” 

“You will !” answered Lady Roseville. “Bend your 
head lower — the walls have ears. You have a friend, 
an unwearied and earnest friend, with those now in power ; 

directly he heard that Mr. Y was promised the 

borough, which he knew had been long engaged to you, 
he went straight to Lord Dawton. He found him with 
Lord Clandonald : however, he opened the matter im- 
mediately. He spoke with great warmth of your claims 
— he did more — he incorporated them with his own, 
which are of no mean order, and asked no other recom- 
pense for himself than the fulfilment of a long-made 
promise to you. Dawton was greatly confused, and Lord 
Clandonald replied, for him, that certainly there was no 

denying your talents — that they were very great that 

you had, unquestionably, been of much service to their 
party, and that, consequently, it must be politic to attach 
you to their interests; but that there was a certain fierte, 
and assumption, and he might say (mark the climax) 
independence about you, which could not but be highly 
displeasing in one so young ; moreover, that it was ira- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 151 

possible to trust to you — that you pledged yourself to 
no party — that you spoke only of conditions and terms 
— that you treated the proposal of placing you in Par- 
liament rather as a matter of favor on your part than on 
Lord Dawton’s — and, in a word, that there was no 
relying upon you. Lord Dawton then took courage, and 

chimed in, with a long panegyric on Y , and a long 

account of what was due to him, and to the zeal of his 
family: adding, that, in a crisis like this, it was absolutely 
necessary to engage a certain rather than a doubtful and 
undecided support ; that, for his part, if he placed you in 
Parliament, he thought you quite as likely to prove a foe 
as a friend ; that owing to the marriage of your uncle, 
your expectations were by no means commensurate with 
your presumption, and that the same talents which made 
your claims to favor as an ally, created also no small 
danger in placing you in any situation where you could 
become hurtful as an enemy. All this, and much more 
to the same purpose, was strenuously insisted upon by the 
worthy pair ; and your friend was obliged to take his 
leave, perfectly convinced that, unless you assumed a more 
complaisant bearing, or gave a more decided pledge, to 
the new minister, it was hopeless for you to expect any- 
thing from him, at least for the present. The fact is, 
he stands too much in awe of you, and would rather keep 
you out of the House than contribute an iota towards 
obtaining you a seat. Upon all this you may rely as 
certain.” 

“ I thank you from my heart,” said I warmly, seizing 

11 . — 14 


PELHAM; OR, 


15ft 

and pressing Lady Roseville’s band. “You tell me what 
I have long suspected ; I am now upon my guard, and 
they shall find that I can o/Tend as well as defend. But 
it is no time for me to boast ; oblige me by informing 
me of the name of my unknown friend; I little thought 
there was a being in the world who would stir three steps 
for Henry Pelham.” 

“ That friend,” replied Lady Roseville, with a faltering 
voice and a glowing cheek, “ was Sir Reginald Glanville.” 

“ What 1 ” cried I, “ repeat the name to me again, or 
— ” I paused, and recovered myself. “ Sir Reginald 
Glanville,” I resumed haughtily, “is too gracious to 
enter into my affairs. I must be strangely altered if I 
need the officious zeal of any intermeddler to redress my 
wrongs.” 

“ Nay, Mr. Pelham,” said the countess, hastily, “you 
do Glanville — you do yourself injustice. For him, there 
never passes a day in which he does not mention you with 
the highest encomiums and the most affectionate regard. 
He says of late, that you have altered towards him, but 
that he is not surprised at the change — he never mentions 
the cause ; if I am not intruding, suffer me to inquire into 
it ; perhaps (oh ! how happy it would make me) I may be 
able to reconcile you; if you knew — if you could but 
guess half of the noble and lofty character of Reginald 
Glanville, you would suffer no petty difference to divide 
you.” 

“It is no petty difference,” said I, rising, “nor am I 
permitted to mention the cause. Meanwhile, may God 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


159 


bless you, dearest Lady Roseville, and preserve that kind 
and generous heart from worse pangs than those of dis- 
appointed ambition, or betrayed trust.” 

Lady Roseville looked down — her bosom heaved vi- 
olently ; she felt the meaning of my words. I left her, and 
returned home. 


CHAPTER L X X 1 1 . 

Good Mr. Knave give me my due, 

I like a tart as well as you ; 

But I would starve on good roast beef, 

Ere I would look so like a thief . — The Queen of Ilearts. 

Nunc vino pellite curas: 

Cras ingens iterabimus eequor. — Hor. 

The next morning I received a note from Guloseton, 
asking me to dine with him at eight, to meet his chev- 
reuil. I sent back an answer in the affirmative, and then 
gave myself wholly up to considering what was the best 
line of conduct to pursue with regard to Lord Dawton. 
“It would be pleasant enough,” said Anger, “to go to 
him, to ask him boldly for the borough so often pledged 
to you, and, in case of his refusal, to confront, to taunt, 
and to break with him. ” “ True,” replied that more homely 
and less stage-effect arguer, which we term Knowledge 
of the World ; “ but this would be neither useful nor dig- 
nified — common sense never quarrels with any one. Call 


1G0 


PELHAM; OR, 


upon Lord Dawton, if you will — ask him for his promise, 
with your second-best smile, and receive his excuses with 
your very best. Then do as you please — break with him 
or not — you can do either with grace and quiet; never 
make a scene about anything — reproach and anger always 
do make a scene.” “ Yery true,” said I, in answer to the 
latter suggestion — and having made up my mind, I re- 
paired a quarter before three to Lord Dawton’s house. 

“Ah, Pelham,” said the little minister, “delighted to 
see you look so much the better from the country air ; 
you will stay in town now, I hope, till the end of the 
season ? ” 

“ Certainly, Lord Dawton, or, at all events, till the 
prorogation of Parliament ; how, indeed, could I do other- 
wise, with your lordship’s kind promise before my eyes ? 

Mr. , the member for your borough of , has, I 

believe, accepted the Chiltern Hundreds ? I feel truly 
obliged to you for so promptly fulfilling your promise to 
me.” 

“ Hem ! my dear Pelham, hem ! ” murmured Lord 
Dawton. I bent forward as if in the attitude of listening 
respect, but really the more clearly to perceive, and closely 
to enjoy, his confusion. He looked up and caught my 
eye, and not being too much gratified with its involuntary 
expression, he grew more and more embarrassed ; at last 
he summoned courage. 

“ Why, my dear Sir,” he said, “ I did, it is true, promise 
you that borough; but individual friendship must fre- 
quently be sacrificed to the public good. All our party 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 16 * 


insisted upon returning Mr. Y in place of the late 

member : what could I do ? I mentioned your claims ; 
they all, to a man, enlarged upon your rival’s: to be sure 
he is an older person, and his family is very powerful in 
the Lower House : in short, you perceive, my dear Pelham 
— that is, you are aware — you can feel for the delicacy 
of my situation — one could not appear too eager for 
one’s own friends at first, and I was forced to concede. ” 

Lord Dawton was now fairly delivered of his speech ; 
it was therefore, only left me to congratulate him on his 
offspring. 

“ My dear lord,” I began, “ you could not have pleased 

me better : Mr. Y is a most estimable man, and I 

would not, for the world, have had you suspected of placing 
such a trifle as your own honor — that is to say — your 
promise to me, before the commands — that is to say, the 
interests — of your party ; but no more of this now. Was 
your lordship at the Duke of ’s last night ? ” 

Dawton seized joyfully the opportunity of changingthe 
conversation, and we talked and laughed on indifferent 
matters till I thought it time to withdraw ; this I did with 
the most cordial appearance of regard and esteem ; nor 
was it till I had fairly set my foot out of his door, that I 
suffered myself to indulge the “black bile ” at my breast. 
I turned towards the Green Park, and was walking slowly 
along the principal mall with my hand behind me, and 
my eyes on the ground, when I heard my own name 
uttered. On looking back, I perceived Lord Yincent on 
horseback ; he stopped and conversed with me. In the 
14 * 


162 


PELHAM; OR, 


humor 1 was in with Lord Dawton, I received him with 
greater warmth than I had done of late ; and he also, 
being in a social mood, seemed so well satisfied with our 
rencontre, and my behavior, that he dismounted to walk 
with me. 

“ This park is a very different scene now,” said Vincent, 
“ from what it was in the times of ‘ The Merry Monarch ; ’ 
yet it is still a spot much more to my taste than its more 
gaudy and less classical brother of Hyde There is some- 
thing pleasingly melancholy, in walking over places haunt- 
ed by history ; for all of us live more in the past than the 
present.” 

“And how exactly alike in all ages,” said I, “men have 
been ! On the very spot we are on now, how many have 
been actuated by the same feelings that now actuate us 

— how many have made perhaps exactly the same remark 
just made by you ! It is this universal identity, which 
forms our most powerful link with those that have been 

— there is a satisfaction in seeing how closely we resemble 
the Agamemnons of gone times, and we take care to lose 
none of it, by thinking how closely we also resemble the 
Thersiteses.” 

“True,” replied Vincent : “if wise and great men did 
but know how little difference there is between them and 
the foolish or the mean, they would not take such pains 
to be wise and great ; to use the Chinese proverb, ‘ they 
sacrifice a picture, to get possession of its ashes.’ It is 
almost a pity that the desire to advance should be so 
necessary to our being ; ambition is often a fine, but never 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 163 

a felicitous feeling. Cyprian, in a beautiful passage on 
envy, calls it ‘the moth of the soul : 1 but perhaps, even 
that passion is less gnawing, less a ‘ tabes pectoris' than 
ambition. You are surprised at my heat — the fact is, I 
am enraged at thinking how much we forfeit, when we 
look up only, aud trample unconsciously, in the blindness 
of our aspiration, on the affections which strew our path. 
Now, you and I have been utterly estranged from each 
other of late. Why ? — for any dispute — any disagree- 
ment in private — any discovery of meanness — treachery, 
unworthiness in the other ? No ! merely because I dine 
with Lord Lincoln, and you with Lord Daw r ton voild tout. 
Well say the Jesuits, that they who live for the public 
must renounce all private ties; the very day we become 
citizens, we are to cease to be men. Our privacy is like 
Leo Decimus ; directly it dies, all peace, comfort, joy, and 
sociality are to die with it : and an iron age, ‘ barbara vis 
et dira malorum omnium incommoda 1 to succeed.” 

“ It is a pity that we struck into different paths,” said 
I : “ no pleasure would have been to me greater than 
making our political interests the same ; but — ” 

“ Perhaps there is no but,” interrupted Vincent ; 
“ perhaps, like the two knights in the hackneyed story, 
we are only giving different names to the same shield, 
because we view it on different sides ; let us also imitate 
them in their reconciliation, as well as their quarrel, and 
6ince we have already run our lances against each other, 
be convinced of our error, and make up our difference.” 
I was silent ; indeed, I did not like to trust myself to 
speak. Vincent continued : — 


TfU PELHAM; OR, 

“ I know,” said he, “ and it is in vain for you to cor.eea 

it, that you have been ill-used by Dawton. Mr. Y is 

ray first-cousin ; he came to me the day after the borough 
was given to him, and told me all that Clandonald and 
Dawton had said to him at the time. Believe me, they 
did not spare you ; — the former you have grieviouslv 
offended ; you know that he has quarrelled irremediably 
with his son Dartmore, and he insists that you are the 
friend and abettor of that ingenuous youth, in all his de- 
baucheries and extravagance — tu ilium corrumpi sinis. 
I tell you this without hesitation, for I know you are less 
vain than ambitious, and I do not care about hurting you 
in the one point, if I advance you in the other. As for 
me, I own to you candidly and frankly, that there are no 
pains I would spare to secure you to our party. Join us, 
and you shall, as I have often said, be on the parliamen- 
tary benches of our corps, without a moment of unnecessary 
delay. More I cannot promise you, because I cannot 
promise more to myself ; but from that instant your fortune, 
if I augur aught aright from your ability, will be in your 
hands. You shake your head — surely you must seo that 
our differences are not vehement — it is a difference not 
of measures, but men. There is but a verbal disagreement 
between us ; and we must own the wisdom of the sentence 
recorded in Aulus Gellius, that 'he is but a madman, 
who splits the weight of things upon the hair-breadths 
of words.’ You laugh at the quaintness of the quotation ; 
quaint proverbs are of the truest.” 

If my reader should think lightly of me, when I own 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 165 

that I felt wavering and irresolute at the end of this 
speech, let him for a moment place himself in my situa ion 
— let him feel indignant at the treachery, the injustice, 
the ingratitude of one man ; and, at the very height of his 
resentment, let him be soothed, flattered, courted, by the 
offered friendship and favor of another. Let him per- 
sonally despise the former, and esteem the latter ; and let 
him, above all, be convinced , as well as persuaded , of the 
truth of Vincent’s hint, viz., that no sacrifice of principle, 
nor of measures, was required — nothing but an alliance 
against men , not measures. And who were those men ? 
bound to me by a single tie — meriting from my gratitude 
a single consideration ? No ! the men, above all others, 
who had offered me the greatest affront, and deserved from 
me the smallest esteem. 

But, however human feelings might induce me to waver, 
I felt that it was not by them only I was to decide. 1 
am not a man whose vices or virtues are regulated by the 
impulse and passion of the moment : if I am quick to act 
I am habitually slow to deliberate. I turned to Vincent, 
and pressed his hand : “ I dare not trust myself to answer 
you now,” said I : “give me till to-morrow; I shall then 
have both considered and determined.” 

I did not wait for his reply. I sprang from him, turned 
down the passage which leads to Pall Mall, and hastened 
heme once more to commune with my own heart, and — • 
not to be still. 

In these confessions I have made no scruple of owning 
my errors and my foibles ; all that could occasion mirth 


166 


PELHAM; OR, 


or benefit to the reader were his own. I have kept a veil 
over the darker and stormier emotions of my soul ; all 
that could neither amuse nor instruct him are mine! 

Hours passed on — it became time to dress — I rang 
for Bedos — dressed as usual — great emotions interfere 
little with the mechanical operations of life — and drove 
to Guloseton’s. 

He was unusually entertaining ; the dinner too was un- 
usually good ; but, thinking that I was sufficiently intimate 
with my host not to be obliged to belie my feelings, I 
remained distrait, absent, and dull. 

“ What is the matter with you, my friend ? ” said the 
good-natured epicure ; “ you have neither applauded my 
jokes, nor tasted my escallopes ; and your behavior has 
trifled alike with my chevreuil and my feelings ? ” — The 
proverb is right, in saying “ Grief is communicative.” I 
confess that I was eager to unbosom myself to one upon 
whose confidence I could depend. Guloseton heard me with 
great attention and interest — “ Little,” said he, kindly, 
“ little as I care for these matters mvself, I can feel for 
those who do : I wish I could serve you better than by 
advice. However, you cannot, I imagine, hesitate to 
accept Yincent’s offer. What matters it whether you sit 
on one bench or on another, so that you do not sit in a 
thorough draught — or dine at Lord Lincoln’s, or Lord 
Dawton’s, so long as the cooks are equally good ? As 
for Dawton, I always thought him a shuffling, mean fellow, 
who buys his wines at the second price, and sells his offices 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


161 


at the first. Come, my dear fellow, let us drink to his 
confusion.” 

So saying, Guloseton filled my glass to the brim. He 
had sympathized with me — I thought it, therefore, my 
duty to sympathize with him ; nor did we part till the 
eyes of the bon vivant saw more things in heaven and 
earth, than are dreamt of in the philosophy of the sober 


CHAPTER LXXIII. 

Si ad honestatem nati sumus, ea aut sola expctenda est, 

aut certe omni pondere gravior est habenda quam reliqua omnia. 

Tully. 


Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: 

I have not from your eyes that gentleness 

And show of love as I was wont to have. — Julius Cxsar. 

I rose at my usual early hour ; sleep had tended to 
calm, and, I hope, also, to better, my feelings. I had now 
leisure to reflect, that I had not embraced my party from 
any private or interested motive ; it was not, therefore, 
from a private or interested motive that I was justified in 
deserting it. Our passions are terrible sophists ! When 
Vincent had told me, the day before, that it was from 
men, not measures, that I was to change, and that such a 
change could scarcely deserve the name, my heart adopted 
the assertion, and fancied it into truth. 

1 now began to perceive the delusion ; were government 


163 


PELHAM; OR, 


as mechanically perfect as it has never yet been (but as 
I trust it may yet be), it would signify little who were 
the mere machines that regulated its springs : but in a 
constitution like ours, the chief character of which — 
pardon me, ye De Lolmeites — is its uncertainty; where 
men invariably make the measures square to the dimen- 
sions of their own talent or desire ; and where, reversing 
the maxim of the tailor, the measures so rarely make the 
men ; it required no penetration to see how dangerous it 
was to entrust to the aristocratic prejudice of Lincoln, or 
the vehement imbecility of Lesborough, the execution of 
the very same measures which might safely be committed 
to the plain sense of Dawton, and, above all, to the great 
and various talents of his coadjutors. But what made 
the vital difference between the two parties was less in the 
leaders than the body. In the Dawton faction, the best, 
the purest, the wisest of the day were enrolled ; they took 
upon themselves the origin of all the active measures, and 
Lord Dawton was the mere channel through which those 
measures flowed ; the plain, the unpretending, and some- 
what feeble character of Lord Dawton’s mind, readily 
conceded to the abler components of his party the author- 
ity it was so desirable that they should exert. In Vincent’s 
party, with the exception of himself, there was scarcely an 
individual with the honesty requisite for loving the pro- 
jects they affected to propose, or the talents that were 
necessary for carrying them into effect, even were their 
wishes sincere ; nor was either the haughty Lincoln, or 
his noisy and overbearing companion, Lesborough, at 


ADVENTURES of a gentleman. 1G& 

till of a temper to suffer that quiet, yet powerful inter- 
ference of others, to which Dawton unhesitatingly sub- 
mitted. 

I was the more resolved to do all possible justice to 
Dawton’s party, from the inclination I naturally had to 
lean towards the other ; and in all matters, where private 
pique or self-interest can possibly penetrate, it has ever 
been the object of my maturer consideration to direct my 
particular attention to that side of the question which such 
undue partisans are the least likely to espouse. While I 
was gradually, but clearly, feeling my way to a decision, I 
received the following note from Guloseton : — 

11 1 said nothing to you last night of what is now to be 
the subject of my letter, lest you should suppose it arose 
rather from the heat of an extempore convivality, than its 
real source, viz., a sincere esteem for your mind, a sincere 
affection for your heart, and a sincere sympathy in your 
resentment and your interest. 

“ They tell me that Lord Dawton’s triumph or discom- 
fiture rests entirely upon the success of the motion upon 

, brought before the House of Commons, on the 

. I care, you know, very little, for my own 

part, which way this question is decided ; do not think, 
therefore, that I make any sacrifice when I request you to 
suffer me to follow your advice in the disposal of my four 
votes. I imagine, of course, that you would wish them to 
adopt the contrary side to Lord Dawton ; and upon re 
eeiving a line from you to that effect, they shall be em- 
powered to do so 
11. — lb 


no 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ Pray, oblige me also by taking the merit of this 
measure upon yourself, and saying (wherever it may be 
useful to you,) how entirely both the voters and their 
influence are at your disposal. I trust we shall yet play 
the Bel to this Dragon, and fell him from his high places. 

“ Pity me, my dear friend ; I dine out to-day, and feel 
already, by an intuitive shudder, that the soup will be 
cold and the sherry hot. Adieu. 

“Ever your’s, 

“ Guloseton.” 

Now, then, my triumph, my vanity, and my revenge 
might be fully gratified. I had before me a golden op- 
portunity of displaying my own power, and of humbling 
that of the minister. My heart swelled high at the thought. 
Let it be forgiven me, if, for a single moment, my previous 
calculations and morality vanished from my mind, and I 
saw only the offer of Vincent, and the generosity of Gu- 
loseton. But I checked the risings of my heart, and 
compelled my proud spirit to obedience. 

I placed Guloseton’s letter before me, and, as I read it 
once more in order to reply to it, the disinterested kind- 
ness and delicacy of one, whom I had long, in the injustice 
of my thoughts, censured as selfish, came over me so 
forcibly, and contrasted so deeply with the hollowness 
of friends more sounding, alike in their profession and 
their creeds, that the tears rushed to my eyes. 

A thousand misfortunes are less affecting than a single 
kindness. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 1 <1 

I wrote, in answer, a warm and earnest letter of thanks 
for an offer, the kindness of which penetrated me to the 
soul. I detailed at some length the reasons which induced, 
me to the decision I had taken ; I sketched also the nature 
of the very important motion about to be brought before 
the House, and deduced from that sketch the impossibility 
of conscientiously opposing Lord Dawton’s party in the 
debate. I concluded with repeating the expressions my 
gratitude suggested ; and, after declining all interference 
with Lord Gfuloseton’s votes, ventured to add, that had I 
interfered, it would have been in support of Dawton ; ne t 
as a man, but a minister — not as an individual friend, 
but a public servant. 

I had just despatched this letter when Vincent entered ; 
I acquainted him, though in the most respectful and 
friendly terms, with my determination. He seemed greatly 
disappointed, and endeavored to shake my resolution ; 
finding this was in vain, he appeared at last satisfied, and 
even affected with my reasons. When we parted, it was 
with a promise, confirmed by both, that no public variance 
should ever again alter our private opinion of each other. 

When I was once more alone, and saw myself brought 
back to the very foot of the ladder I had so far and so 
fortunately climbed ; when I saw that, rejecting all the 
overtures of my friends, I was left utterly solitary and 
unaided among my foes — when I looked beyond, and 
saw no faint loop-hole of hope, no single stepping-stone 
on which to recommence my broken but unwearied career 
perhaps one oang of regret and repentance at mv 


172 PELHAM; OR, 

determination came across me : but there is something 
marvellously restorative in a good conscience, and one 
soon learns to look with hope to the future, when one can 
feel justified in turning with pride to the past. 

My horse came to the door at my usual hour for 
riding : with what gladness I sprang upon his back, felt 
the free wind freshening over my fevered cheek, and turned 
my rein towards the green lanes that border the great 
city on its western side. I know few counsellors more 
exhilarating than a spirited horse. I do not wonder 
that the Roman emperor made a consul of his steed. On 
horseback I always best feel my powers, and survey my 
resources : on horseback I always originate my subtlest 
schemes, and plan their ablest execution. Give me but 
a light rein, and a free bound, and I am Cicero — Cato 
• — Caesar; dismount me, and I become a mere clod of 
the earth which you condemn me to touch : fire, energy, 
ethereality , have departed ; I am the soil without the sun 
— the cask without the wine — the garments without the 
man. 

I returned homewards with increased spirits and collect- 
ed thoughts : I urged my mind from my own situation, 
and suffered it to rest upon what Lady Roseville had told 
me of Reginald Glanville’s interference in my behalf. That 
extraordinary man still continued powerfully to excite 
my interest; nor could I dwell, without some yearning 
of the kindlier affections, upon his unsolicited, and, but 
for Lady Roseville’s communication, unknown exertions 
in my cause. Although the officers of justice were still 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN l?3 

actively employed in the pursuit of Tyrrell’s murderer, 
and although the newspapers were still full of speculations 
on their indifferent success, public curiosity had begun to 
flag upon the inquiry. I had, once or twice, been in 
Glanville’s company when the murder was brought upon 
the tapis, and narrowly examined his behavior upon a 
subject which touched him so fearfully. I could not, 
however, note any extraordinary confusion or change, 
in his countenance ; perhaps the pale cheek grew some- 
what paler, the dreaming eye more abstracted, and the 
absent spirit more wandering than before ; but many 
other causes than guilt could account for signs so doubtful 
and minute. 

“You shall soon know all,” the last words which he 
had addressed to me, yet rang in my ears ; and most in- 
tensely did I anticipate the fulfilment of this promise. My 
hopes too — those flatterers, so of^en the pleasing antithe- 
ses of reason — whispered that this was not the pledge 
of a guilty man ; and y«t he had said to Lady Roseville, 
that he did not wonder at my estrangement from him : 
such words seemed to require a less favorable construction 
than those he had addressed to me; and, in making this 
mental remark, another, of no flattering nature to Grlan- 
rille’s disinterestedness, suggested itself ; might not his 
interference for me with Lord Dawton, arise rather from 
policy than friendship ? — might it not occur to him, if, as 

I surmised, he was acquainted with my suspicions, and 

» 

acknowledged their dreadful justice, that it would be 
advisable to propitiate my silence ? Such were among 
15 * 


174 


P £ L II A M ; OR, 

the thousand thoughts which flashed across me, and left 
my speculations in debate and doubt. 

Nor did ray reflections pass unnoticed the nature of 
Lady Roseville’s affection for Glanville. From the seeming 
coldness and austerity of Sir Reginald’s temperament, it 
was likely that this was innocent, at least in act ; and 
there was also something guileless in the manner in which 
she appeared rather to exult in, than to conceal, her 
attachment. True that she was bound by no ties ; she 
had neither husband nor children, for whose sake love 
became a crime : free and unfettered, if she gave her heart 
to Glanville, it was also allowable to render the gift 
lawful and perpetual by the blessing of the church. 

Alas ! how little can woman, shut up in her narrow 
and limited circle of duties, know of the wandering life 
and various actions of her lover ! Little, indeed, could 
Lady Roseville, when, in the heat of enthusiasm, she 
spoke of the lofty and generous character of Glanville, 
dream of the foul and dastardly crime of which he was 
more than suspected ; nor, while it was, perhaps, her 
fondest wish to ally herself to his destiny, could her wild- 
est fancies anticipate the felon’s fate, which, if death 
came not in a hastier and kinder shape, must sooner or 
later await him. 

Of Thornton I had neither seen nor heard aught since 
my departure from Lord Chester’s ; that reprieve was, 
however, shortly to expire. I had scarcely got into 
Oxford-street, in my way homeward, when I perceived him 
crossing the street with another man. I turned round 




ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 175 

to scrutinize the features of his companion, and, in spite 
of a great change of dress, a huge pair of false whiskers, 
and an artificial appearance of increased age, my habit 
of observing countenances enabled me to recognize, on 
the instant, my intellectual and virtuous friend, Mr. Job 
Jonson. They disappeared in a shop, nor did I think 
it worth while further to observe them, though I still bore 
a reminiscitory spite against Mr. Job Jonson, which I 
was fully resolved to wreak at the first favorable op- 
portunity. 

I passed by Lady Roseville’s door. Though the hour 
was late, and I had, therefore, but a slight chance of 
finding her at home, yet I thought the chance worth the 
trouble of inquiry. To my agreeable surprise, I was 
admitted ; no one was in the drawing-room. The servant 
said, Lady Roseville was at that moment engaged, but 
would very shortly see me, and begged I would wait. 

Agitated as I was by various reflections, I walked (in 
the restlessness of .my mood) to and fro the spacious 
rooms which formed Lady Roseville’s apartments of 
reception. At the far end was a small boudoir , where 
none but the goddess’s favored few were admitted. As I 
approached towards it, I heard voices, and the next mo 
ment recognized the deep tones of Glanville. I turned 
hastily away, lest I should overhear the discourse ; but I 
had scarcely got three steps, when the convulsed sound 
of a woman’s sob came upon my ear. Shortly afterwards, 
steps descended the stairs, and the street-door opened. 




176 


PELHAM; OR, 


The minutes rolled on, and I became impatient. The 
servant re-entered — Lady Roseville was so suddenly and 
seriously indisposed, that she was unable to see me. I 
left the house, and, full of bewildered conjectures, returned 
co my apartments. 

The next day was one of the most important in my life. 
I was standing wistfully by my fire-place, -listening with 
the most mournful attention to a broken-winded hurdy- 
gurdy, stationed opposite to my window, when Bedos 
announced Sir Reginald Glanville. It so happened, that 
I had that morning taken the miniature I had found in 
the fatal field, from the secret place in which I usually 
kept it, in order closely to examine it, lest any proof of 
its ownership, more convincing than the initials and Thorn- 
ton’s interpretation, might be discovered by a minuter 
investigation. 

The picture was lying on the table when Glanville 
entered : my first impulse was to seize and secrete it ; my 
second to suffer it to remain, and to watch the effect the 
sight of it might produce. In following the latter, I 
thought it, however, as well to choose my own time for 
discovering the miniature ; and, as I moved to the table, 
I threw my handkerchief carelessly over it. Glanville 
came up to me at once, and his countenance, usually close 
and reserved in its expression, assumed a franker and 
bolder aspect. 

“You have lately changed towards me,” he said 

“ mindful of our former friendship, I have come to demand 
the reason.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


171 


“ Can Sir Reginald Glanville’s memory,” answered I 

“ supply him with no probable cause ? ” 

* 

“ It can,” replied Glanville, “ but I would not trust only 
to that. Sit down, Pelham, and listen to me. I can 
read your thoughts, and I might affect to despise their 
import — perhaps two years since I should — at present 
I can pity and excuse them. I have come to you now, 
in the love and confidence of our early days, to claim as 
then your good opinion and esteem. If you require any 
explanation at my hands, it shall be given. My days are 
approaching their end. I have made up my accounts 
with others — I would do so with you. I confess that I 
would fain leave behind me in your breast, the same affec- 
tionate remembrance I might heretofore have claimed, 
and which, whatever be your suspicions, I have done 
nothing to forfeit. I have, moreover, a dearer interest 
than my own to consult in this wish — you color, Pelham 
— you know to whom I allude; for my- sister’s sake, if 
not for my own, you will hear me.” 

Glanville paused for a moment. I raised the handker- 
chief from the miniature — I pushed the latter towards 
him — “ Do you remember this ? ” said I, in a low tone. 

With a wild cry, which thrilled through my heart, 
Glanville sprang forward and seized it. He gazed eagerly 
and intensely upon it, and his cheek flushed ; — his eyes 
sparkled — his breast heaved. The next moment he fell 
back in his chair, in one of the half swoons, to which, 
upon a sudden and violent emotion, the debilitating effects 
of his disease subjected him. 


ITS PELHAM; OR, 

Before I could come to Ins assistance, lie had recovered. 
He looked wildly and fiercely upon me. “ Speak,” he 
cried, “speak — where got you this — where? — answer, 
for mercy’s sake ? ” 

“Recollect yourself,” said I sternly. “I found that 
token of your presence upon the spot where Tyrrell was 
murdered.” 

“ True, true,” said Glanville, slowly, and in an absent 
and abstracted tone. He ceased abruptly, and covered 
his face with his hands ; from this attitude he started with 
some sudden impulse. 

“ And tell me,” he said, in a low, inward, exulting tone 
“was it — was it red with the blood of the murderer 
man ? ” 

“Wretch ! ” I exclaimed, “ do you glory in your guilt ? 

“ Hold ! ” said Gllanvile, rising, with an altered and 
haughty air ; “ it is not to your accusations that I am 
now to listen : if you are yet desirous of weighing their 
justice before you decide upon them, you will have the 
opportunity; I shall be at home at ten this night; come 
to me, and you shall know all. At present, the sight 
of this picture has unnerved me. Shall I see you ? ” 

I made no other rejoinder than the brief expression of 
my assent, and Glanville instantly left the room. 

During the whole of that day, my mind was wrought 

* 

up into a state of feverish and preternatural excitement. 
I could not remain on the same spot for an instant : my 
pulse beat with the irregularity of delirium. For the last 
hour I placed my watch before me, and kept my eyes 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. lTO 

constantly fixed upon it. It was not only Glanville’s 
confession that I was to hear ; ray own fate, my future 
connection with Ellen, rested upon the story of that night. 
For myself, when I called to mind Glanville’s acknowledg- 
ment of the picture, and his slow and involuntary re- 
membrance of the spot where it was found, I scarcely 
allowed my temper, sanguine as it was, to hope. 

Some minutes before the hour of ten, I repaired to 
Glanville’s house. He was alone — the picture was before 
him. 

I drew my chair towards him in silence, and, accidentally 
lifting up my eyes, encountered the opposite mirror. I 
started at my own face ; the intensity and fearfulness of 
my interest had rendered it even more hueless than that 
of my companion. 

There was a pause for some moments, at the end of 
which Glanville thus began. 


ISO 


PELHAM J OR, 


CHAPTER LXXIV 

I do but hide 

Under these words, like embers, every spark 
Of that which has consumed me. Quick and dark 
The grave is yawning; — as its roof shall cover 
My limbs with dust and worms, under and over, 

So let oblivion hide the grief. — Julian and Maddalt 
****** 

With thee the very future fled, 

I stand amid the past alone, 

A tomb which still shall guard the dead, 
Though every earthlier trace be flown ; 

A tomb o’er which the weeds that love 
Decay — their wild luxuriance wreathe 
The cold and callous stone above — 

And only thou and death beneath. 

From Unpublished Pcems by - 


THE HISTORY OP SIR REGINALD GLANYILLE. 

" Tou remember my character at school — the difficulty 
with which you drew me from the visionary and abstracted 
loneliness which, even at that time, was more consonant 
to my taste, than all the sports and society resorted to by 
other boys — and the deep, and, to you, inexplicable 
delight with which I returned to my reveries and solitude 
again. That character has continued through life the 
same ; circumstances have strengthened, not altered it. 
So has it been with you ; the temper, the habits, the tastes, 
bo strongly contrasted with mine in boyhood, have lost 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 181 

nothing of that contrast. Yonr ardor for the various 
ambition of life is still the antipodes to my influence : your 
daring, restless, thoughtful resolution in the pursuit, still 
shames my indolence and abstraction. You are still the 
votary of the world, but will become its conqueror — 1 
its fugitive — and shall die its victim. 

“After we parted at school, I went for a short time to 

a tutor’s in shire. Of this place I soon grew weary; 

and, my father’s death rendering me in a great measure 
my own master, I lost no time in leaving it. I was seized 
with that mania for travel common enough to all persons 
of my youth and disposition. My mother allowed me an 
almost unlimited command over the fortune eventually to 
be my own ; and, yielding to my wishes, rather than her 
fears, she suffered me, at the age of eighteen, to set out 
for the Continent alone. Perhaps the quiet and reserve 
of my character made her think me less exposed to the 
dangers of youth, than if I had been of a more a.ctive and 
versatile temper. This is no uncommon mistake ; a serious 
and contemplative disposition is, however, often the worst 
formed to acquire readily the knowledge of the world, and 
always the most calculated to suffer deeply from the ex- 
perience. 

“ I took up my residence for some time at Spa. It is, 
you know, perhaps, a place dull enough to make gambling 
the only amusement ; every one played — and I did not 
escape the contagion ; nor did I wish it : for, like the ' 

? y / 

minister Godolphin, my habitual silence made me love 

y hi im ■ ^ 

gaming for its own sake, because it was a substitute for 

II. -16 

X 


182 


P E L II A M ; OR, 


conversation. This pursuit brought me acquainted with 
Mr. Tyrrell, who was then staying at Spa ; he had not, at 
that time, quite dissipated his fortune, but wqs daily ad- 
vancing towards so desirable a consummation. A gam- 
bler’s acquaintance is readily made, and easily kept, — ■ 
provided you gamble too. 

“We became as intimate as the reserve of my habits 
ever suffered me to become with any one but you. He 
was many years older than I — had seen a great deal of 
the world — had mixed much in its best societies, and at 
that time, whatever was the vulgarity of his mind, had 
little of the coarseness of manner which very soon after- 
wards distinguished him ; evil communication works rap- 
idly in its results. Our acquaintance was, therefore, 
natural enough, especially when it is considered that my 
purse was entirely at his disposal — for borrowing is 
‘twice blessed,’ in him that takes and him that gives — 
the receiver becomes complaisant and conceding, and the 
lender thinks favorably of one he has obliged. 

“We parted at Spa, under a mutual promise to write. 
I forget if this promise was kept — probably not : we were 
not, however, the worse friends for being bad correspond- 
ents. I continued my travels for about another year : I 
then returned to England, the same melancholy and 
dreaming enthusiast as before. It is true that we are the 
creatures of circumstances ; but circumstances are also, in 
a great measure, the creatures of us. I mean, they receive 
their influences from the previous bent of our own minds ; 
what raises one would depress another, and what vitiates 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 183 

ray neighbor might correct me. Thus the experience of 
the world makes some persons more worldly — others more 
abstracted ; and the indulgence of the senses becomes a 
violence to one mind, and a second nature to another. 
As for me, I had tasted all the pleasures youth and opu- 
lence can purchase, and was more averse to them than 
ever. I had mixed with many varieties o'f men — I was 
still more riveted to the monotony of self. 

“ I cannot hope, while I mention these peculiarities, 
that I am a very uncommon character : I believe the 
present age has produced many such. Some time hence, 
it will be a curious inquiry to ascertain the causes of that 
acute and sensitive morbidity of mind, which has been, 
and still is, so epidemic a disease. You know me well 
enough to believe, that I am not fond of the cant of 
assuming an artificial character, or of creating a fictitious 
interest ; and I am far from wishing to impose upon you 
a malady of constitution for a dignity of mind. You must 
pardon my prolixity. I own that it is very painful to me to 
come to the main part of my confessions, and I am endeav- 
oring to prepare myself by lingering over the prelude.” 
Glanville paused here for a few moments. In spite of 
the sententious coolness with which he pretended to speak, 
I saw that he was powerfully and painfully affected. 

“Well,” he continued, “to resume the thread of my 
narrative ; after I had stayed some weeks with my mother 
and sister, I took advantage of their departure for the 
continent, and resolved to make a tour through England 

Kich people, and I have always been very rich, grow 

2k 


184 


4 * 


PELHAM; OR, 

exceedingly tired of the embarrassment of their riches.; I 
seized with delight the idea of travelling without car- 
riages and servants ; I took merely a favorite horse, and 
the black dog, poor Terror, which you see now at my feet. 

“ The day I commenced this plan was to me the epoch 
of a new and terrible existence. However, you must 
pardon me if I am not here sufficiently diffuse. Suffice it, 
that I became acquainted with a being whom, for the first 
and only time in my life, I loved ! This miniature attempts 
to express her likeness ; the initials at the back, interwoven 
with my own, are hers.” 

“Yes,” said I, incautiously, “they are the initials of 
Gertrude Douglas.” 

“What 1 ” cried Glanville, in a loud tone, which he in- 
stantly checked, and continued in an indrawn, muttered 
whisper : “How long is it since I heard that name ! and 
now — now — ” he broke off abruptly, and then said, with 
a calmer voice, “ I know not how you have learnt her 
name ; perhaps you will explain ! ” 

“ From Thornton,” said I. 

“And has he told you more ? ” cried Glanville, as if 
gasping for breath — “the history — the dreadful ” 

“Not a word,”' said I, hastily; “he was with me when 
I found the picture, and he explained the initials. ” 

“ It is well ! ” answered Glanville, recovering himself. 
“ you will see presently if I have reason to love that those 
foul and sordid lips should profane the story I am about 
to relate. Gertrude was an only daughter ; though of 
gentle blood, she was no match for me, either in rank or 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 185 

fortune. Did I say just now that the world had not altered 
me? See my folly; one year before I saw her, and I 
should not have thought her , but myself , honored by 
a marriage; — twelve little months had sufficed to — . 
God forgive me! I took advantage of her love — her 
youth — her innocence — she fled with me — but nut to the 
altar! ” 

Again Glanville paused, and again, by a violent effort, 
conquered his emotion, and proceeded: — 

“ Never let vice be done by halves — never let a man 
invest all his purer affections in the woman he ruins — 
never let him cherish the kindness, if he gratifies the 
selfishness, of his heart. A profligate who really loves 
his victim, is one of the most wretched of beings. In spite 
of my successful and triumphant passion — in spite of the 
first intoxication of possession, and the better and deeper 
delight of a reciprocity of thought — feeling, sympathy, 
for the first time, found ; — in the midst of all the luxuries 
my wealth could produce, and of the voluptuous and 
spring-like hues with which youth, health, and first love, 
clothe the earth which the loved one treads, and the air 
which she inhales : in spite of these, in spite of all. I was 
anything but happy. If Gertrude’s cheek seemed a shade 
more pale, or her eyes less bright, I remembered the 
sacrifice she had made me, and believed that she felt it too. 
It was in vain, that, with the tender and generous devotion 
— never found but in woman — she assured me that my 
love was a recompense for all ; the more touching was her 
tenderness, the more poignant was my remorse. I never 
16 * 


1SG 


PELIIAM; OR, 

loved but ner ; I have never, therefore, entered into the 
common-place of passion, and I cannot, even to this day, 
look upon her sex as ours do in general. I thought, I 
think so still, that ingratitude to a woman is often a more 
odious offence — lam sure it contains a more painful 
penalty — than ingratitude to a man. But enough of this ; 
if you know me, you can penetrate the nature of my feel- 
ings — if not, it is in vain to expect your sympathy. 

“I never loved living long in one place. We travelled 
over the greater part of England and France. What must 
be the enchantment of love when accompanied with inno- 
cence and joy, since, even in sin, in remorse, in grief, it 
brings us a rapture to which all other things are tame 1 
Oh ! those were moments steeped in the very elixir of 
life ; overflowing with the hoarded fondness and sympathies 
of hearts too full for words, and yet too agitated for 
silence, when we journeyed alone, and at night, and, as 
the shadows and stillness of the waning hours gathered 
round us, drew closer to each other, and concentrated this 
breathing world in the deep and embracing sentiment of 
our mutual love ! It was then that I laid my burning 
temples on her bosom, and felt, while my hand clasped 
hers, that my visions were realized, and my wandering 
spirit had sunk unto its rest. 

“ I remember well that, one night, we were travelling 
through one of the most beautiful parts of England ; it 
was in the very height and flush of summer, and the moon 

(what scene of love — whether in reality or romance 

has anything of tenderness, or passion, or divinity, where 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 181 

her light is not !) filled the intense skies of June wun her 
presence, and cast a sadder and paler beauty over Ger- 
trude’s cheek. She was always of a melancholy and de- 
spondent temper; perhaps, for that reason, she was more 
congenial to my own ; and when I gazed upon her that 
night, I was not surprised to see her eyes filled with tears. 

4 You will laugh at me,’ she said, as I kissed them off and 
inquired into the cause ; 4 but I feel a presentiment that 1 
cannot shake off ; it tells me that you will travel this road 
again before many months are past, and that I shall not 
be with you, perhaps not upon the earth.’ She was right 
in all her forebodings, but the suggestion of her death ; 
— that came later. 

44 We took up our residence for some time at a beautiful 
situation, a short distance from a small watering-place, 
Here, to my great surprise, I met with Tyrrell. He had 
come there partly to see a relation from whom he had 
expectations, and partly to recruit his health, which was 
much broken by his irregularities and excesses. I could 
not refuse to renew my old acquaintance with him ; and 
indeed, I thought him too much of a man of the world, 
and of society, to feel with him that particular delicacy, 
in regard to Gertrude, which made me in general shun all 
intercourse with my former friends. He was in great 
pecuniary embarrassment — much more deeply so than I 
then imagined ; for I believed the embarrassment to be 
only temporary. However, my purse was then, as before, 
at his disposal, and he did not scruple to avail himself 
very largely of my offers. He came frequently to our 


188 


PELHAM; OR, 


house ; and poor Gertrude, who thought I had, for her 
sake, made a real sacrifice in renouncing my acquaintance, 
endeavored to conquer her usual diffidence, and that more 
painful feeling than diffidence, natural to her station, and 
even to affect a pleasure in the society of my friend, which 
she was very' far from feeling. 

“ I was detained at for several weeks by Gertrude’s 

confinement. The child — happy being ! — died a week 
after its birth. Gertrude was still in bed, and unable to 
leave it, when I received a letter from Ellen, to say that 
my mother was then staying at Toulouse, and dangerously 
ill ; if I wished once more to see her, Ellen besought me 
to lose no time in setting off for the continent. You may 
imagine my situation, or rather you cannot, for you cannot 
conceive the smallest particle of that intense love I bore 
to Gertrude. To you — to any other man, it might seem 
no extraordinary hardship to leave her even for an un- 
certain period — to me it was like tearing away the very 
life from my heart. 

“I. procured her a sort of half companion, and half 

nurse ; I provided for her everything that the most anxious 

% 

and fearful love could suggest ; and, with a mind full of 
forebodings too darkly to be realized hereafter, I hastened 
to the nearest sea-port, and set sail for France. 

“When I arrived at Toulouse, my mother was much 
better, but still in a very uncertain and dangerous state 
of health. I stayed with her for more than a month, 
during which time every post brought me a line from 
Gertrude, and bore back a message from ‘my heart to 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


139 


hers’ in return. This was no mean consolation, more 
especially when each letter spoke of increasing health and 
strength. At the month’s end, I was preparing to return 
— my mother was slowly recovering, and I no longer had 
any fears on her account ; but, there are links in our 
destiny fearfully interwoven with each other, and ending 
only in the anguish of our ultimate doom. The day before 
that fixed for my departure, I had been into a house 
where an epidemic disease raged ; that night I complained 
of oppressive and deadly illness — before morning I was 
in a high fever. 

“ During the time I was sensible of my state, I wrote 
constantly to Gertrude, and carefully concealed my illness ; 
but for several days I was delirious. When I recovered, 
I called eagerly for my letters — there were none : — none ! 
I could not believe I was yet awake ; but days still passed 
on, and not a line from England — from Gertrude. The 
instant I was able, I insisted upon putting horses to my 
carriage ; I could bear no longer the torture of my sus- 
pense. By the most rapid journeys my debility- would 
allow me to bear, I arrived in England. I travelled down 

to by the same road that I had gone over with her ! 

the words of her foreboding, at that time, sank like ice into 
my heart, ‘You will travel this road again before many 
months are past, and I shall not be with you ; perhaps, I 
shall not be upon the earth ! ’ At that thought I could 
have called unto the grave to open for me. Her un- 
accountable and lengthened silence, in spite of all the 
urgency and entreaties of my letters for a reply, filled me 


190 


PELIIAM; OR, 


with presentiments the most fearful. Oh, God — oh, God, 
they were nothing to the truth 1 

“At last I arrived at : my carriage stopped at the 

very house — my whole frame was perfectly frozen with 
dread — I trembled from limb to limb — the ice of a 
thousand winters seemed curdling through my blood. The 
bell rang — once, twice — no answer — I would have leaped 
out of the carriage — I would have forced an entrance; 
but I was unable to move. A man fettered and spell- 
bound by an incubus, is less helpless than I was. At 
last, an old female I had never seen before, appeared. 

“ ‘ Where is she ? How ! — ’ I could utter no more — 
my eyes were fixed upon the inquisitive and frightened 
countenance opposite to my own. Those eyes, I thought, 
might have said all that my lips could not ; I was deceived 

— the old woman understood me no more than I did her : 
another person appeared — I recognized the face — it 
was that of a girl, who had been one of our attendants. 
Will you believe, that at that sight, the sight of one I 
had seen before, and could associate with the remembrance 
of the breathing, the living, the present Gertrude, a thrill 
of joy flashed across me — my fears seemed to vanish — 
my spell to cease ? 

“ I sprang from the carriage ; I caught the girl by the 
robe. ‘Your mistress,’ said I, ‘your mistress — she is well 

— she is alive — speak, speak! The girl shrieked out; 
my eagerness, and, perhaps, my emaciated and altered 
appearance, terrified her ; but she had the strong nerves 
of youth, and was soon re-assured. She requested me to 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


m 





step in, and she would tell me all. My wife (Gertrude 
always went by that name) was alive, and, she believed, 
well, but she had left that place some weeks since. Trem- 
bling, and still fearful, but in heaven, comparatively to my 
former agony, I followed the girl and the old woman 
into the house. 

“ The former got me some water. ‘Now,’ said I, when 
I had drunk a long and hearty draught, ‘ I am ready to 
hear all — my wife has left this house, you say — for what 
place ? ’ The girl hesitated and looked down ; the old 
woman, who was somewhat deaf, and did not rightly un- 
derstand my questions, or the nature of the personal 
interest I had in the reply, answered, — ‘What does the 
gentleman want ? the poor young lady who was last here ? 
Lord help her ! ’ 

“ ‘ What of her ? ’ I called out in a new alarm. ‘ What 
of her ? Where has she gone ? Who took her away ? ’ 

“ ‘ Who took her ! ’ mumbled the old woman, fretful at 
my impatient tone ; ‘ who took her ? whij, the mad doctor 
to be sure ! ’ 

“ I heard no more ; my frame could support no longer 
the agonies my mind had undergone ; I fell lifeless on the 

floor. * 

“ When I recovered, it was at the dead of the night 
I was in bed, the old woman and the girl were at my side. 
I rose slowly and calmly. You know, all men who have 
ever suffered much, know the strange anomalies of despair 

the quiet of our veriest anguish. Deceived by my 

oearmg, I learned by degrees from my attendants, that 


192 PELHAM; OR, 

Gertrude had some weeks since betrayed certain symptoms 
of insanity ; that these, in a very few hours, arose to an 
alarming pitch. From some reason the woman could not 
explain, she had, a short time before, discarded the com- 
panion I had left with her ; she was, therefore, alone among 
servants. They sent for the ignorant practitioners of the 
place ; they tried their nostrums without success ; her 
madness increased ; her attendants, with that superstitious 
horror of insanity common to the lower classes, became 
more and more violently alarmed ; the landlady insisted 
on her removal; and — and — I told you, Pelham — I 
told you — they sent her away — sent her to a mad-house 1 
All this I listened to ! — all ! — ay, and patiently. I noted 
down the address of her present abode ; it was about the 

distance of twenty miles from . I ordered fresh horses 

and set off immediately. 

“I arrived there at day-break. It was a large, old 
house, which, like a French hotel, seemed to have no 
visible door : dark and gloomy, the pile appeared worthy 
of the purpose to which it was devoted. It was a long 
time before we aroused any one to answer our call ; at 
length I was ushered into a small parlor — how minutely 
I remember every article in the room ! — what varieties 
there are in the extreme passions ! sometimes the same 
feeling will deaden all the senses — sometimes render them 
a hundredfold more acute ! 

“At last, a man of a smiling and rosy aspect appeared. 
He pointed to a chair — rubbed his hands — and begged 
me to unfold my business ; few words sufficed to do that, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 193 

I requested to see his patient ; I demanded by what 
authority she had been put under his care. The man’s 
face altered. He was but little pleased with the nature 
of my visit. ‘The lady,’ he said, coolly, ‘had been en- 
trusted to his care, with an adequate remuneration, by 
Mr. Tyrrell ; without that gentleman's permission, he could 
not think even of suffering me to see her.’ I controlled 
my passion ; I knew something, if not of the nature of 
private mad-houses, at least of that of mankind. I claimed 
his patient as my wife : I expressed myself obliged by his 
care, and begged his acceptance of a further remuneration, 
which I tendered, and which was eagerly accepted. The 
way was now cleared : there is no hell to which a golden 
breach .will not win your admittance. 

“ The man detained me no longer ; he hastened to lead 
the way. We passed through various long passages ; 
sometimes the low moan of pain and weakness came upon 
my ear — sometimes the confused murmur of the idiot’s 
drivelling soliloquy. From one passage, at right angles 
with the one through which we proceeded, broke a fierce 
and thrilling shriek ; it sank at once into silence — per- 
haps beneath the lash! 

“We were now in a different department of the building 
— all was silence — hushed — deep — breathless ; this 
seemed to me more awful than the terrible sounds I had 
just heard. My guide went slowly on, sometimes breaking 
the stillness of the dim gallery by the jingle of his keys . — 
sometimes by a muttered panegyric on himself and his 
numanity. I neither heeded nor answered him. 

ii. — n 


(94 


PELHAM; OE, 


% 


“ We read in tnt annals of the Inquisition, of every limb, 
nerve, sinew of the victim, being so nicely and accurately 
strained to their utmost, that the frame would not bear 
the additional screwing of a single hair-breadth. Such 
seemed my state. We came to a small door, at the right 
hand ; it was the last but one in the passage. We paused 
before it. ‘ Stop,’ said I, ‘for one moment; ’ and I was 
so faint and sick at heart, that I leaned against the wal 1 
to recover myself, before I let him open the door ; when 
he did, it was a greater relief than I can express, to see 
that all was utterly dark. ‘Wait, sir,’ said the guide, as 
he entered; and a sullen noise told me that he was un- 
barring the heavy shutter. 

“ Slowly the grey cold light of the morning broke in * 
a dark figure was stretched upon a wretched bed, at the 
far end of the room. She raised herself at the sound. 
She turned her face towards me ; I did not fall, nor faint, 
nor shriek ; I stood motionless, as if fixed into stone ; and 
yet it was Gertrude upon whom I gazed. Oh, Heaven I 
who but myself could have recognized her ? Her cheek 
was as the cheek of the dead — the hueless skin clung to 
the bone — the eye was dull and glassy for one moment : 

the next it became terribly and preternaturally bright 

but not with the ray of intellect, or consciousness, or re- 
cognition. She looked long and hard at me ; a voice, 
hollow and broken, but which still penetrated my heart, 
came forth through the wan lips, that scarcely moved with 
the exertion. ‘ I am very cold,’ it said — ‘ but if I com 
plain, you will beat me.’ She fell down again upon the 
bed, and hid her face 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. L ( Jj 

“ My guide, who was leaning carelessly by the window, 
turned to me with a sort of smirk — ‘ This is her way 
sir,’ he said ; ‘ her madness is of a very singular descrip 
tion : we have not, as yet, been able to discover how far 
it extends ; sometimes she seems conscious of the past, 
sometimes utterly oblivious of everything : for days she is 
perfectly silent, or, at least, says nothing more than you 
have just heard ; but, at times, she raves so violently, 
that — that — but I never use force where it can be 
helped. 1 

“ I looked at the man, but I could not answer, unless 
I had torn him to pieces on the spot. I turned away 
hastily from the room : but I did not quit the house 
without Gertrude — I placed her in the carriage, by my 
side — notwithstanding all the protestations and fears of 
the keeper ; these were readily silenced by the sum I gave 
him ; it was large enough to have liberated half his house- 
hold. In fact, I gathered from his conversation, that 
Tyrrell had spoken of Gertrude as an unhappy female 
whom he himself had seduced, and would now be rid of. 
I thank you, Pelham, for that frown, but keep your iu- 
dignation till a fitter season for it. 

“ I took my victim, for I then regarded her as such, to 
a secluded and lonely spot : I procured for her whatever 
advice England could afford ; all was in vain. Night and 
day I was by her side, but she never, for a moment, seemed 
to recollect me : yet were there times of fierce and over- 
powering delirium, when my name was uttered in the 
transport of the most passionate enthusiasm — when my 


196 


peliiam; or, 


features as absent, though not present, were recalled and 
dwelt upon with all the minuteness of the most faithful 
detail ; and I knelt by her in all those moments, when no 
other human being was near, and clasped her wan hand, 
and wiped the dew from her forehead, and gazed upon 
her convulsed and changing face, and called upon her in 
a voice which could once have allayed her wildest emo- 
tions ; and had the agony of seeing her eye dwell upon 
me with the most estranged indifference, or the most 
vehement and fearful aversion. But, ever and anon, she 
uttered words which chilled the very marrow of my bones ; 
words which I would not, dared not believe, had any 
meaning or method in their madness — but which entered 
into my own brain, and preyed there like the devouring 
of a fire. There was a truth in those ravings — a reason 
in that incoherence — and my cup was not yet full. 

“At last, one physician, who appeared to me to have 
more knowledge than the rest, of the mysterious work- 
ings of her dreadful disease, advised me to take her to 
the scenes of her first childhood : ‘ Those scenes, ’ said he 
justly, ‘are in all stages of life the most fondly remem- 
bered ; and I have noted, that in many cases of insanity, 
places are easier recalled than persons ; perhaps, if we can 
once awaken one link in the chain, it will communicate to 
the rest.’ 

“ I took this advice, and set off to Norfolk. Her early 
home was not many miles distant from the church-yard 
where you once met me, and in that church-yard her 
mother was buried. She had died before Gertrude’s flight ; 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


197 


tlie father’s death had followed it : perhaps ray sufferings 
were a just retribution ! The house had gone into other 
hands, and I had no difficulty in engaging it. Thank 
Heaven, I was spared the pain of seeing any of Gertrude’s 
relations. 

“ It was night when we moved to the house. I had 
placed within the room where she used to sleep, all the 
furniture and books, with which it appeared, from my in- 
quiries, to have been formerly filled. We laid her in the 
bed that had held that faded and altered form, in its 
freshest and purest years. I shrouded myself in one corner 
of the room, and counted the dull minutes till the day-light 
dawned. I pass over the detail of my recital — the ex- 
periment partially succeeded — would to God that it h * d 
not ! would that she had gone down to her grave with hoc 
dreadful secret unrevealed ! would — but — ” 

Here Glanville’s voice failed him, and there was a brief 
silence before he re-commenced. 

“ Gertrude now had many lucid intervals ; but these my 
presence were always sufficient to change into a delirious 
raving, even more incoherent than her insanity had ever 
yet been. She would fly from me with the most fearful 
cries, bury her face in her hands, and seem like one op- 
pressed and haunted by a supernatural visitation, as long 
as I remained in the room ; the moment I left her, she 
began, though slowly, to recover. 

“This was to me the bitterest affliction of all — to be 
forbidden to nurse, to cherish, to tend her, was like taking 
from me my last hope ! But little can the thoughtless 01 
17 * 


PELHAM; OR, 


198 

the worldly dream of the depths of a real love ; I used tc 
wait all day by her door, and it was luxury enough to me 
to catch her accents, or hear her move, or sigh, or even 
weep ; and all night, when she could not know of my 
presence, I used to lie down by her bedside ; and when I 
sank into a short and convulsed sleep, I saw her once 
more, in my brief and fleeting dreams, in all the devoted 
love, and glowing beauty, which had once constituted the 
whole of my happiness, and my world. 

“ One day I had been called from my post by her door. 
They came to me hastily — she was in strong convulsions. 
I flew up stairs, and supported her in my arms till the fits 
had ceased : we then placed her in bed ; she never rose 
from it again : but on that bed of death, the words, as 
well as the cause of her former insanity, were explained 

— the mystery was unravelled. 

• “It was a still and breathless night. The moon, which 
was at its decrease, came through the half-closed shutters, 
and, beneath its solemn and eternal light, she yielded to 
my entreaties, and revealed all. The man — my friend 
. — Tyrrell — had polluted her ear with his addresses, and 
when forbidden the house, had bribed the woman I had left 
with her, to convey his letters ; — she was discharged — 
but Tyrrell was no ordinary villain ; he entered the house 
one evening, when no one but Gertrude was there. — 
Come near me, Pelham — nearer — bend down your ear 

— he used force, violence ! That night Gertrude’s senses 
deserted her — you know the rest. 

“ The moment that I gathered, from Gertrude’s broken 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 199 


sentences, their meaning, that moment the demon entered 
into my soul. All human feelings seemed to fly from my 
heart ; it shrank into one burning, and thirsty, and fiery 
want — and that want w'as for revenge 1 I would have 
sprung from the bedside, but Gertrude’s hand clung to 
me, and detained me ; the damp, chill grasp grew colder 
and colder — it ceased — the hand fell — I turned — one 
slight, but awful shudder, went over that face, made yet 
more wan by the light of the waning and ghastly moon 
— one convulsion shook the limbs — one murmur passed 
the falling and hueless lips. I cannot tell you the rest 
. — you know — you can guess it. 

“ That day week we buried her in the lonely church- 
yard — where she had, in her lucid moments, wished to 
lie — by the side of her mother.” 


CHAPTER LXXY. 

I breathed, 

But not the breath of human life; 

A serpent round my heart was wreathed, 

And stung my very thought to strife. — The Giaour. 

“ Thank Heaven, the most painful part of my story is 
at an end. You will now be able to account for our 

meeting in the church-yard at . I secured myself 

a lodging at a cottage not far from the spot which held 

Gertrude’s remains. Night after night I wandered to 

2l 


200 


PELHAM; OR, 


that lonely place, and longed for a couch beside the 
sleeper, whom I mourned in the selfishness of my soul. I 
prostrated myself on the mound : I humbled myself to 
tears. In the overflowing anguish o-f my heart I forgot 
all that had aroused its stormier passions into life. 
Revenge, hatred, — all vanished. I lifted up my face to 
the tender heavens : I called aloud to the silent and placid 
air ; and when I turned again to that unconscious mound, 
I thought of nothing but the sweetness of our early love, 
and the bitterness of her early death. It was in such 
moments that your footstep broke upon my grief : the 
instant others had seen me — other eyes penetrated the 
sanctity of my regret — from that instant, whatever was 
more soft and holy in the passions and darkness of my 
mind seemed to vanish away like a scroll. I again re- 
turned to the intense and withering remembrance which 
was henceforward to make the very key and pivot of my 
existence. I again recalled the last night of Gertrude’s 
life ; I again shuddered at the low, murmured sounds, 
whose dreadful sense broke slowly upon my soul. I 
again felt the cold — cold, damp grasp of those wan and 
dying fingers ; and I again nerved my heart to an iron 
strength, and vowed deep, deep-rooted, endless, implaca- 
ble revenge. 

“ The morning after the night you saw me, I left my 
abode. I went to London, and attempted to methodize 
my plans of vengeance. The first thing to discover, wu 3 
Tyrrell’s present residence. By accident, 1 heard he was 
at Paris, and, within two hours of receiving the ir.telli- 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 


20 . 


gence, I set off for that city. On arriving there, the 
habits of the gambler soon discovered him to my search 
I saw him one night at a hell. He was evidently in dis 
tressed circumstances, and the fortune of the table was 
against him. Unperceived by him, I feasted my eyes on 
his changing countenance, as those deadly and wearing 
transitions of feeling, only to be produced by the gaming 
table, passed over it. While I gazed upon him, a thought 
of more exquisite and refined revenge, than had yet 
occurred to me, flashed upon my mind. Occupied with 
the ideas it gave rise to, I went into the adjoining room, 
which was quite empty. There I seated myself, and en- 
deavored to develop, more fully, the rude and imperfect 
outline of my scheme. 

“ The arch tempter favored me with a trusty coadjutor 
in my designs. I was lost in a reverie, when I heard 
myself accosted by name. I looked up, and beheld a man 
whom I had often seen with Tyrrell, both at Spa, and 

(the watering-place where, with Gertrude, I had met 

Tyrrell). He was a person of low birth and character ; 
but esteemed, from his love of coarse humor, and vulgar 
enterprise, a man of infinite parts — a sort of Yorick — • 
by the set most congenial to Tyrrell’s tastes. By this 
undue reputation, and the levelling habit of gaming, to 
which he was addicted, he was raised, in certain societies, 
much above his proper rank : need I say that this man 
was Thornton ? I was but slightly acquainted with him ; 
however, he accosted me cordially, and endeavored to 
draw me into conversation. 


“ ‘ Have you seen Tyrrell ? ’ said be ; * lie is at it 
again ; what’s bred in the bone, you know, &c.’ I turned 
pale with the mention of Tyrrell’s name, and replied very 
laconically, to wdiat purpose, I forget. — ‘Ah ! ah ! ’ re- 
joined Thornton, eyeing me with an air of impertinent 
familiarity — ‘ I see you have not forgiven him ; he played 

you but a shabby trick at ; seduced your mistress, or 

someth.ng of that sort ; he told me all about it : pray, 
how is the poor girl now ? ’ 

“ I made no reply ; I sank down and gasped for breath. 
All I had suffered seemed nothing to the indignity I then 
endured. She — she — who had once been my pride — 

my honor — life — to be thus spoken of — and . I 

could not pursue the idea. I rose hastily, looked at 
Thornton with a glance, which might have abashed a man 
less shameless and callous than himself, and left the room. 

“ That night, as I tossed restless and feverish on my bed 
of thorns, I saw how useful Thornton might be to me in 
the prosecution of the scheme I had entered into ; and the 
next morning I sought him out, and purchased (no very 
difficult matter) both his secresy and his assistance. My 
plan of vengeance, to one who had seen and observed less 
of the varieties of human nature than you have done, 
might seem far-fetched and unnatural ; for while the su- 
perficial are ready to allow eccentricity as natural in the 
coolness of ordinary life, they never suppose it can exist 
in the heat of the passions — as if, in such moments, any 
thing was ever considered absurd in the means which was 
favorable to the end. Where the secrets of one passionate 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 203 

and irregulated heart laid bare, there would be more 
romance in them, than in all the fables which we turn from 
with incredulity and disdain, as exaggerated and over- 
drawn. 

“Among the thousand schemes for retribution which 
had chased each other across my mind, the death of ray 
victim was only the ulterior object. Death, indeed — the 
pang of one moment — appeared to me but very feeble 
justice for the life of lingering and restless anguish to 
which his treachery had condemned me ; but my penance, 
my doom, I could have forgiven : it was the fate of a more 
innocent and injured being which irritated the sting and 
fed the venom of my revenge. That revenge no ordinary 
punishment could appease. If fanaticism can only be 
satisfied by the rack and the flames, you may readily con- 
ceive a like unappeasable fury, in a hatred so deadly, so 
concentrated, and so just as mine — and if fanaticism 
persuades itself into a virtue, so also did my hatred. 

“The scheme which I resolved upon was, to ^attach 
Tyrrell more and more to the gaming-table, to be present 
at his infatuation, to feast my eyes upon the feverish 
intensity of his suspense — to reduce him, step by step, 
to the lowest abyss of poverty — to glut my soul with the 
abjectness and humiliation of his penury — to strip him 
of all aid, consolation, sympathy, and friendship — to 
follow him, unseen, to his wretched and squalid home — 
to mark the struggles of the craving nature with the 
’oathing pride — and, finally, to watch the frame wear, 
the eye sink, the lip grow livid, and all the terrible and 


204 


PELIIAM; OR, 


torturing progress of gnawing want, to utter starvation. 
Then, in that last state, but not before, I might reveal 
myself — stand by the hopeless and succorless bed of 
death — shriek out in the dizzy ear a name, which could 
treble the horrors of remembrance — snatch from the 
struggling and agonizing conscience the last plank, the 
last straw, to which in its madness, it could cling, and 
blacken the shadows of departing life, by opening to the 
shuddering sense the threshold of an impatient and yawn- 
ing hell. 

“ Hurried away by the unhallowed fever of these pro- 
jects, I thought of nothing but their accomplishment. I 
employed Thornton, who still maintained his intimacy 
with Tyrrell, to decoy him more and more to the gambling- 
house ; and, as the unequal chances of the public table 
were not rapid enough in their termination to consummate 
the ruin even of an impetuous and vehement gamester, 
like Tyrrell, so soon as my impatience desired, Thornton 
took every opportunity of engaging him in private play, 
and accelerating my object by the unlawful arts of which 
he was master. My enemy was every day approaching 
the farthest verge of ruin ; near relations he had none, all 
his distant ones he had disobliged ; all his friends, and 
even his acquaintance, he had fatigued by his importunity, 
or disgusted by his conduct. In the whole world there 
seemed not a being who would stretch forth a helping 
hand to save him from the total and penniless beggary 
to which he was hopelessly advancing. Out of the wrecks 
of his former property, and the generosity of former friends, 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 205 

whatever he had already wrung, had been immediately 
staked at the gaming-house and immediately lost. 

“ Perhaps this would not so soon have been the case, 
if Thornton had not artfully fed and sustained his ex- 
pectations. He had been long employed by Tyrrell in a 
professional capacity, and he knew well all the gamester’s 
domestic affairs ; and when he promised, should things 
come to the worst, to find some expedient to restore them, 
Tyrrell easily adopted so flattering a belief. 

“Meanwhile, I had taken the name and disguise under 
favor of which you met me at Paris, and Thornton had 
introduced me to Tyrrell as a young Englishman of great 
wealth, and still greater inexperience. The gambler 
grasped eagerly at an acquaintance, which Thornton 
readily persuaded him he could turn to such account: 
and I had thus every facility of marking, day by day, 
how my plot thickened, and my vengeance hastened to its 
triumph. 

“This was not all. I said, there was not in the wide 
world a being who would have saved Tyrrell from the fate 
he deserved and was approaching. I forgot there was one 
who still clung to him with affection, and for whom he 
still seemed to harbor the better and purer feelings of 
less degraded and guilty times. This person (you will 
guess readily it was a woman) 1 made it my especial 
.business and care to wean away from my prey ; I would 
not suffer him a consolation he had denied to me. I used 
all the arts of seduction to obtain the transfer of her 
affections. Whatever promises and vows — whether of 
II. — 18 


206 


PELHAM ; OR, 


love or wealth — could effect, were tried; nor, at last, 
without success — I triumphed. The woman became my 
slave. It was she who, whenever Tyrrell faltered in his 
course to destruction, combated his scruples, and urged 
on his reluctance : it was she who informed me minutely 
of his pitiful finances, and assisted, to her utmost, in ex- 
pediting their decay. The still more bitter treachery of 
deserting him in his veriest want I reserved till the fittest 
occasion, and contemplated with a savage delight. 

“ I was embarrassed in my scheme by two circumstances : 
first, Thornton’s acquaintance with you ; and, secondly, 
Tyrrell’s receipt (some time afterwards) of a very un- 
expected sum of two hundred pounds, in return for 
renouncing all further andy;ossf6/e claim on the purchasers 
of his estate. To the former, so far as it might interfere 
with my plans, or lead to my detection, you must pardon 
me for having put a speedy termination ; the latter threw 
me into great consternation — for Tyrrell’s first idea was 
to renounce the gaming-table, and endeavor to live upon 
the trifling pittance he had acquired, as long as the 
utmost economy would permit. 

“ This idea, Margaret, the woman I spoke of, according 
to my instructions, so artfully and successfully combated, 
that Tyrrell yielded to his natural inclination, and returned 
once more to the infatuation of his favorite pursuit. 
However, I had become restlessly impatient for the con- 
clusion to this prefatory part of my revenge, and, accord- 
ingly, Thornton and myself arranged that Tyrrell should 
be persuaded by the former to risk all, even to his very 




ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 201 

last farthing, in a private game with me Tyrrell, who 
believed he should readily recruit himself by my unskilful- 
ness in the game, fell easily into the snare ; and on the 
second night of our engagement, he not only had lost the 
whole of his remaining pittance, but had signed bonds 
owning to a debt of far greater amount than he, at that 
time, could ever even have dreamt of possessing. 

“Flushed, heated, almost maddened with my triumph, 
I yielded to the exultation of the moment. I did not 
know you were so near — I discovered myself — you 
remember the scene. I went joyfully home : and for the 
first time since Gertrude’s death, I was happy ; but there 
I imagined my vengeance only would begin ; I revelled in 
the burning hope of marking the hunger and extremity that 
must ensue. The next day, when Tyrrell turned round, 
in his despair, for one momentary word of comfort from 
the lips to which he believed, in the fond credulity of his 
heart, falsehood and treachery never came, his last earthly 
friend taunted and deserted him. Mark me, Pelham — I 
was by, and heard her ! 

“ But here my power of retribution was to close : from 
the thirst still unslaked and unappeased, the cup was 
abruptly snatched. Tyrrell disappeared — no one knew 
whither. I set Thornton’s inquiries at work. A week 
afterwards he brought me word that Tyrrell had died in 
extreme want, and from very despair. Will you credit, 
that at hearing this news, my first sensations were only 
rage and disappointment ? True, he had died, died in all 
Ihe misery my heart could wish, but I had not seen him 


20 $ PELHAM; OR, 

die ; and the death-bed seemed to me robbed of its bitter- 
est pang. 

“ I know not to this day, though I have often questioned 
him, what interest Thornton had in deceiving me by this 
tale ; for my own part, I believe that he himself was 
deceived ;* certain it is (for I inquired), that a person, 
very much answering to Tyrrell’s description, had perished 
in the state Thornton mentioned ; and this might therefore, 
in all probability, have misled him. 

“ I left Paris, and returned, through Normandy, to 
England (where I remained some weeks) ; there we again 
met : but I think we did not meet till I had been perse- 
cuted by the insolence and importunity of Thornton. The 
tools of our passions cut both ways ; like the monarch, 
who employed strange beasts in his army, we find our 
treacherous allies less destructive to others than ourselves. 
But I was not of a temper to brook the tauntings, or the 
encroachment of mv own creature : it had been with but 
an ill grace that I had endured his familiarity, when I 
absolutely required his services, much less could I suffer 
his intrusion when those services — services not of love, 
but hire — were no longer necessary. Thornton, like all 
persons of his stamp, has a low pride, which I was con- 
stantly offending. He had mixed with men, more than 
my equals in rank, on a familiar footing, and he could ill 
brook the hauteur with which my disgust at his character 
absolutely constrained me to treat him. It is true, that 

* It seems (from subsequent investigation) that this was really 
the case. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 209 

the profuseness of my liberality was such, that the mean 
wretch stomached affr mts for which he was so largely 
paid ; but, with the cunning and malicious spite natural 
to him, he knew well how to repay them in kind. While 
he assisted, he affected to ridicule, my revenge ; and though 
he soon saw that he durst not, for his very life, breathe a 
syllable openly against Gertrude, or her memory, yet he 
contrived, by general remarks, and covert insinuations, to 
gall me to the very quick, and in the very tenderest point. 
Thus a deep and cordial antipathy to each other arose, 
and grew, and strengthened, till, I believe, like the fiends 
in hell, our mutual hatred became our common punish- 
ment. 

“ No sooner had I returned to England, than I found 
him here, awaiting my arrival. He favored me with fre- 
quent visits and requests for money. Although not pos- 
sessed of any secret really important affecting my character, 
he knew well, that he was possessed of one important to 
my quiet; and he availed himself to the utmost of my 
strong and deep aversion even to the most delicate 
recurrence to my love to Gertrude, and its unhallowed and 
disastrous termination. At length, however, he wearied 
me : I found that he was sinking into the very dregs and 
refuse of society, and I could not longer brook the idea 
of enduring his familiarity and feeding his vices. 

“ I pass over any detail of my own feelings, as well as 
my outward and worldly history. Over my mind, a 
great change had passed ; I was no longer torn by violent 
and contending passions ; upon the tumultuous sea a dead 
18 * 


210 


PELHAM; OR, 


and heavy torpor had fallen ; the very winds, necessary 
for health, had ceased ; 

‘I slept on the abyss without a surge.’ 

One violent and engrossing passion is among the worst 
of all immoralities , for it leaves the mind too stagnant 
and exhausted for those activities and energies which 
constitute our real duties. However, now that the tyrant 
feeling of my mind was removed, I endeavored to shake 
off the apathy it had produced, and return to the various 
occupations and business of life. Whatever could divert 
me from my own dark memories, or give a momentary 
motion to the stagnation of my mind, I grasped at with 
the fondness and eagerness of a child. Thus, you found 
me surrounding myself with luxuries which palled upon 
my taste the instant that their novelty had passed : now 
striving for the vanity of literary fame ; now, for the 
emptier baubles which riches could procure. At one time 
I shrouded myself in my closet, and brooded over the 
dogmas of the learned, and the errors of the wise ; at 
\nother, I plunged into the more engrossing and active 
pursuits of the living crowd which rolled around me, — 
and flattered my heart, that amidst the applause of senators, 
and the whirlpool of affairs, I could lull to rest the voices 
of the past, and the spectre of the dead. 

“ Whether these hopes were effectual, and the struggle 
not in vain, this haggard and wasting form, drooping day 
by day into the grave, can declare ; but I said I would 
not dwell long upon this part of my history, nor is it 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 211 

necessary. Of one thing only, not connected with the 
main part of my confessions, it is right, for the sake of 
one tender and guiltless being, that I should speak. 

11 In the cold and friendless world with which I mixed, 
there was a heart which had years ago given itself wholly 
up to me. At that time I was ignorant of the gift I so 
little deserved, or (for it was before I knew Gertrude) I 
might have returned it, and been saved years of crime and 
anguish. Since then, the person I allude to had married, 
and, by the death of her husband, was once more free. 
Intimate with my family, and more especially with my 
sister, she now met me constantly ; her compassion for the 
change she perceived in me, both in mind and person, was 
stronger than even her reserve, and this is the only reason 
why I speak of an attachment which ought otherwise to 
be concealed : I believe that you already understand to 
whom I allude, and since you have discovered her weak- 
ness, it is right that you should know also her virtue ; it 
is right that you should learn, that it was not in her the 
fantasy, or passion of a moment, but a long and secreted 
love ; that you should learn, that it was her pity, and no 
unfeminine disregard to opinion, which betrayed her into 
imprudence, and that she is, at this moment, innocent of 
everything, but the folly of loving me. 

“I pass on to the time when I discovered that I had 
been, either intentionally or unconsciously, deceived, and 
that my enemy yet lived 1 lived in honor, prosperity, and 
Jie world’s blessings. This information was like removing 
r barrier from a stream hitherto pent into quiet and re- 


212 


PELHAM; OR, 


straint. All the stormy thoughts, feelings, and passions, 
so long at rest, rushed again into a terrible and tumultuous 
action. The newly-formed stratum of my mind was swept 
away ; everything seemed a wreck, a chaos, a convulsion 
of jarring elements : but this is a trite and tame descrip- 
tion of my feelings ; words would be but commonplace to 
express the revulsion which I experienced : yet, amidst all, 
there was one paramount and presiding thought, to which 
the rest were as atoms in the heap — the awakened 
thought of vengeance ! — but how was it to be gratified ? 

“ Placed as Tyrrell now was in the scale of society, 
every method of retribution but the one formerly rejected, 
seemed at an end. To that one, therefore, weak and 
merciful as it appeared to me, I resorted — you took my 
challenge to Tyrrell — you remember his behavior — 
Conscience doth indeed make cowards of us all 1 The 
letter inclosed to me in his to you, contained only the 
commonplace argument urged so often by those who have 
injured us : viz. the reluctance at attempting our life after 
having ruined our happiness. When I found that he had 
left London, my rage knew no bounds ; I was absolutely 
frantic with indignation ; the earth reeled before my eyes ; 
I was almost suffocated by the violence — the whirlpool 

■ — of my emotions. 1 gave myself no time to think, 1 

left town in pursuit of my foe. 

“ I found that — still addicted, though, I believe, not 
so madly as before, to his old amusements — he was in 
the neighbourhood of Newmarket, awaiting the races, 
shortly to ensue. No sooner did I find his address, thou 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 213 

j wrote him another challenge, still more forcibly and 
insultingly worded than the one you took. In this I said 
that his refusal was of no avail ; that I had sworn that 
my vengeance should overtake him ; and that sooner or 
later, in the face of heaven and despite of hell, my oath 
should be fulfilled. Remember those words, Pelham : I 
shall refer to them hereafter. 

“ Tyrrell’s reply was short and contemptuous ; he affect- 
ed to treat me as a madman. Perhaps (and I confess that 
the incoherence of my letter authorized such suspicion) 
he believed I really was one. He concluded by saying, 
that if he received more of my letters, he should sheltei 
himself from my aggressions by the protection of the law. 

“ On receiving this reply, a stern, sullen, iron spirit 
entered into my bosom. I betrayed no external mark of 
passion ; I sat down in silence — I placed the letter and 
Gertrude’s picture before me. There, still and motionless, 
I remained for hours. .1 remember well, I was awakened 
from my gloomy reverie by the clock, as it struck the first 
hour of the morning. At that lone and ominous sound, 
the associations of romance and dread which the fables 
of our childhood connect with it, rushed coldly and fear- 
fully into my mind ; the damp dews broke out upon my 
forehead, and the blood curdled in my limbs. In that 
moment I knelt down and vowed a frantic and deadly 
oath — the words of which I would not now dare to 
repeat — that before three days expired, hell should no 
longer be cheated of its prey. I rose — I flung myself 
on my bed, and slept . 


214 ' PELHAM; OR, 

“ The next day I left my abode. I purchased a strong 
and swift horse, and, disguising myself from head to foot 
in a long horseman’s cloak, I set off alone, locking in my 
heart the calm and cold conviction, that my oath should 
be kept. I placed, concealed in my dress, two pistols ; my 
intention was to follow Tyrrell wherever he went, till we 
could find ourselves alone, and without the chance of 
intrusion. It was then my determination to force him 
into a contest, and that no trembling of the hand, no error 
of the swimming sight, might betray my purpose, to place 
us foot to foot, and the mouth of each pistol almost to 
the very temple of each antagonist. Nor was I deterred 
for a moment from this resolution by the knowledge that 
my own death must be as certain as my victim’s. On the 
contrary, I looked forward to dying thus, and so baffling 
the more lingering, but not less sure, disease, which was 
daily wasting me away, with the same fierce, yet not un- 
quiet delight with which men have rushed into battle, and 
sought out a death less bitter to them than life. 

“For two days, though I each day saw Tyrrell, fate 
threw into my way no opportunity of executing my design. 
The morning of the third came — Tyrrell was on the race 
ground : sure that he would remain there for some hours, 
1 put up my wearied horse in the town, and seating 
myself in an obscure corner of the course, was contented 
with watching, as the serpent does his victim, the distant 
motions of my enemy. Perhaps you can recollect passing 
a man seated on the ground, and robed in a horseman’s 
cloak. I need not tell you that it was I whom you passed 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


216 


and accosted. I saw you ride by me ; but the moment 
you were gone, I forgot the occurrence. I looked upon 
the rolling and distant crowd, as a child views the figures 
of the phantasmagoria,- scarcely knowing if my eyes 
deceived me, feeling impressed with some stupefying and 
ghastly sensation of dread, and cherishing the conviction 
that my life was not as the life of the creatures that passed 
before me. 

“ The day waned — I went back for my horse — I re- 
turned to the course, and, keeping at a distance as little 
suspicious as possible, followed the motions of Tyrrell. 
He went back to the town — rested there — repaired to 
a gaming-table — stayed at it a short time — returned to 
his inn, and ordered his horse. 

“ In all these motions I followed the object of my 

pursuit ; and my heart bounded with joy when I, at last, 

saw him set out alone, and in the advancing twilight. I 

followed him till he left the main road. Now, I thought, 

was my time. I redoubled my pace, and had nearly 

reached him, when some horsemen appearing, constrained 

me again to slacken my pace. Various other similar 

interruptions occurred to delay my plot. At length all 

was undisturbed. I spurred my horse, and was nearly on 

the heels of my enemy, when I perceived him join another 

man — this was you — I clenched my teeth, and drew my 

% 

breath, as I once more retreated to a distance. In a short 
time two men passed me, and I found, that, owing to some 
accident on the road, they stopped to assist you. It 

appears by your evidence on a subsequent event, that 

2m 


216 PELHAM; OR, 

these men were Thornton and his friend Dawson : at the 
time, they passed too rapidly, and I was too much occu- 
pied in my own dark thoughts, to observe them : still I 
kept up to you and Tyrrell, sometimes catching the out- 
line of your figures through the moonlight, at others, 
(with the acute sense of anxiety,) only just distinguishing 
me clang of your horses’ hoofs on the stony ground. At 
last, a heavy shower came on ; imagine my joy, when 
Tyrrell left you and rode off alone ! 

“ I passed you, and followed my enemy as fast as my 
horse would permit ; but it was not equal to Tyrrell’s, 
which was almost at its full speed. However, I came, at 
last, to a very steep, and almost precipitous, descent, j 
was forced to ride slowly and cautiously ; this, however, 
I the less regarded, from my conviction that Tyrrell must 
be obliged to use the same precaution. My hand was on 
my pistol with the grasp of premeditated revenge, when a 
shrill, sharp solitary cry broke on my ear. 

“ No sound followed — all was silence. I was just ap- 
proaching towards the close of the descent, when a horse 
without its rider passed me. The shower had ceased, and 
the moon broken from the cloud some minutes before ; by 
its light, I recognized the horse rode by Tyrrell ; perhaps, 
I thought, it has thrown its master, and my victim will 
now be utterly in my power. I pushed hastily forward in 
spite of the hill, not yet wholly passed. I came to a spot 
of singular desolation — it was abroad patch of waste 
land, a pool of water was on the right, and a remarkable 
and withered tree hung over it. I looked round but saw 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 217 

nothing of life stirring. A dark and imperfectly developed 
object lay by the side of the pond — I pressed forward — 
merciful God ! my enemy had escaped my hand, and lay in 
the stillness of death before me 1 ” 

“ What 1 ” I exclaimed, interrupting Glanville, for I 
could contain myself no longer, “it was not by you then 
that Tyrrell fell ? ” With these words, I grasped his hand ; 
and, excited as I had been by my painful and wrought-up 
interest in his recital, I burst into tears of gratitude and 
joy. Reginald Glanville was innocent — Ellen was not 
the sister of an assassin ! 

After a short pause, Glanville continued — 

“ I gazed upon the upward and distorted face, in a 
deep and sickening silence ; an awe, dark and undefined, 
crept over my heart ; I stood beneath the solemn and 
sacred heavens, and felt that the hand of God was upon 
me — that a mysterious and fearful edict had gone forth 

— that my headlong and unholy wrath had, in the very 
midst of its fury, been checked, as if but the idle anger of 
a child — that the plan I had laid in the foolish wisdom 
of my heart, had been traced, step by step, by an all- 
seeing eye, and baffled in the moment of its fancied suc- 
cess, by an inscrutable and awful doom. I had wished 
the death of my enemy — lo J my wish was accomplished 

— how, I neither knew nor guessed — there, a still and 
senseless clod of earth, without power of offence or injury 
he lay beneath my feet — it seemed as if, in the moment 
of my uplifted arm, the Divine avenger had asserted His 
prerogative — as if the angel which had smitten the As- 

II. — 19 


218 


PELHAM; OR, 


Syrian, had again swept forth, though against a meaner 
victim — and, while he punished the guilt of a human 
criminal, had set an eternal barrier to the vengeance of 
a human foe ! 

“I dismounted from my horse, and bent over the mur- 
dered man. I drew from mv bosom the miniature, which 
never forsook me, and bathed the lifeless resemblance of 
Gertrude in the blood of her betrayer. Scarcely had I 
done so, before my ear caught the sounds of steps ; hastily 
I thrust, as. I thought, the miniature in my bosom, re- 
mounted, and rode hurriedly away. At that hour, and for 
many which succeeded to it, I believe that all sense was 
suspended. I was like a man haunted by a dream, and 
wandering under its influence ; or as one whom a spectre 
pursues, and for whose eye, the breathing and busy world 
is but as a land of unreal forms and flitting shadows, 
teeming with the monsters of darkness, and the terrors 
of the tomb. 

“ It was not till the next day that I missed the picture. 
I returned to the spot — searched it carefully, but in vain 
— the miniature could not be found ; I returned to town, 
and shortly afterwards the newspapers informed me of 
what had subsequently occurred. I saw, with dismay, 
that all appearances pointed to me as the criminal, and 
that the officers of justice were at that moment tracing 
the clue which my cloak, and the color of my horse, afford- 
ed them. My mysterious pursuit of Tyrrell : the disguise 
I had assumed ; the circumstance of my passing you on 
the road, and of my flight when you approached, all spoke 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


219 


volumes against me. A stronger evidence yet remained, 
and it was reserved for Thornton to indicate it — at this 
moment my life is in his hands. Shortly after my return 
to town, he forced his way into my room, shut the door 
— bolted it — and, the moment we were alone, said, with 
a savage and fiendish grin of exultation and defiance, — 
* Sir Reginald Glanville, you have many a time and oft 
insulted me with your pride, and more with your gifts ; 
now it is my time to insult and triumph over you — know 
that one word of mine could sentence you to the gibbet.’ 

“ He then minutely summed up the evidence against 
me, and drew from his pocket the threatening letter I had 
last written to Tyrrell. You remember that therein I 
said my vengeance was sworn against him, and that, 
sooner or later, it shonid overtake him. ‘ Couple,’ said 
Thornton, coldly, as he replaced the letter in his pocket 

‘ couple these words with the evidence already against 

you, and I would not buy your life at a farthing’s value.’ 

“ How Thornton came by this paper, so important to 
my safety, I know not : but when he read it, I was startled 
by the danger it brought upon me : one glance sufficed to 
show me that I was utterly at the mercy of the villain 
who stood before me : he saw and enjoyed my struggles. 

“ ‘ Now,’ said he, ‘ we know each other ; — at present 
I want a thousand pounds ; you will not refuse it me, I am 
sure ; when it is gone I shall call again ; till then you can 
do without me.’ I flung h.zn a cheque for the money, and 
he departed. 

“You may conceive the mortification I endured in 


220 


PELHAM; OR, 


this sacrifice of pride to prudence : but those were no 
ordinary motives which induced me to submit to it. Fast, 
approaching to the grave, it mattered to me but little 
whether a violent death should shorten a life to which a 
limit was already set, and which I was far from being 
anxious to retain : but I could not endure the thought 
of bringing upon my mother and my sister, the wretched- 
ness and shame which the mere suspicion of a crime so 
enormous, would occasion them ; and when my eye caught 
all the circumstances arrayed against me, my pride seemed 
to suffer a less mortification even in the course I adopted 
than in the thought of the felon’s gaol, and the criminal’s 
trial ; the hoots and execration of the mob, and the death 
and ignominious remembrance of the murderer. 

“ Stronger than either of these motives, was my shrinking 
and loathing aversion to whatever seemed at all likely 
to unrip the secret history of the past. I sickened at the 
thought of Gertrude’s name and fate being bared to the 
vulgar eye, and exposed to the comment, the strictures, 
the ridicule of the gaping and curious public. It seemed 
to me, therefore, but a very poor exertion of philosophy to 
conquer my feelings of humiliation at Thornton’s insolence 
and triumph, and to console myself with the reflection, 
that a few months must rid me alike of his exactions and 
my life. 

“But, of late, Thornton’s persecutions and demands 
have risen to such a height, that I have been scarcely 
able to restrain my indignation and control myself into 
compliance. The struggle is too powerful for my frame; 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


221 


it is rapidly bringing on the fiercest and last contest I 
shall suffer, before ‘the wicked shall cease from troubling, 
and the weary be at rest.’ Some days since, I came to 
a resolution, which I am now r about to execute ; it is to 
leave this country and take refuge on the continent. 
There I shall screen myself from Thornton’s pursuit, and 
the danger which it entails upon me ; and there, unknown 
and undisturbed, I shall await the termination of my 
disease. 

“But two duties remained to me to fulfil before I 
departed ; I have now discharged them both. One was 
due to the warm-hearted and noble being who honored 
me with her interest and affection — the other to you. I 
went yesterday to the former ; I sketched the outline of 
that history which I have detailed to you. I showed her 
the waste of my barren heart, and spoke to her of the 
disease which was wearing me away. How beautiful i3 
the love of woman ! She would have followed me over 
the world — received my last sigh, and seen me to the 
rest I shall find, at length ; and this without a hope, or 
thought of recompense, even from the worthlessness of 
my love. 

“But, enough! — of her my farewell has been taken. 
Tour suspicions I have seen and forgiven — for they were 
natural ; it was due to me to remove them : the pressure 
of your hand tells me, that I have done so : but I had 
another reason for my confessions. I have worn away 
the romance of my heart, and I have now no indulgence 

for the little delicacies and petty scruples which often 

1 Q * 


222 


PELHAM; OR 

stand in the way of our real happiness. I have marked 
your former addresses to Ellen, and, I confess, with great 
joy; for I know, amidst all your worldly ambition, and 
the encrusted artificiality of your exterior, how warm and 
generous is your real heart — how noble and intellectual 
is your real mind : and were my sister tenfold more perfect 
than I believe her, I do not desire to find on earth one 
more deserving of her than yourself. I have remarked 
your late estrangement from Ellen ; and, while I guessed , 
I felt that, however painful to me, I ought to remove f 
the cause : she loves you — though, perhaps, you know it 
not — much and truly; and siuce my earlier life has been 
passed in a selfish inactivity, I would fain let it close with 
the reflection of having served two beings whom I prize 
so dearly, and the hope that their happiness will commence 
with my death. 

“And now, Pelham, I have done ; I am weak and ex- 
hausted, and cannot bear more — even of your society, 
now. Think over what I have last said, and let me see 
you again to-morrow ; on the day after, I leave England 
for ever.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


223 


CHAPTER LXXYI. 

* * * * * 

But wilt thou accept not 
The worship the heart lifts above, 

And the Heavens reject not. 

The desh'e of the moth for the star, 

Of the night for the morrow, 

The devotion to something afar 
From the sphere of our sorrow ? — P. B. Shelley. 

It was not with a light heart — for I loved Glanville 
too well, not to be powerfully affected by his awful history 
— but with a chastised and sober joy, that I now beheld 
my friend innocent of the guilt of which my suspicions 
had accused him, while the only obstacle to my marriage 
with his sister was removed. True it was that the sword 
yet hung over his head, and that while he lived, there 
could be no rational assurance of his safety from the 
disgrace and death of the felon. In the world’s eye, 
therefore, the barrier to my union with Ellen would have 
been far from being wholly removed ; but, at that moment, 
my disappointments had disgusted me with the world, 
and I turned with a double yearning of heart to her whose 
pure and holy love could be at once my recompense and 
retreat. 

Nor was this selfish consideration my only motive in 
the conduct I was resolved to adopt; on the contrary, it 
;vas scarcely more prominent in my mind, than those 


224 


PELHAM; OR, 

derived from giving to a friend who was now dearer to 
me than ever, his only consolation on this earth, and to 
Ellen the safest protection, in case of any danger to her 
brother. With these, it is true, were mingled feelings 
which, in happier circumstances, might have been those 
of transport at a bright and successful termination to a 
deep and devoted love ; but these I had, while Glanville’s 
very life was so doubtful, little right to indulge, and I 
checked them as soon as they arose. 

After a sleepless night I repaired to Lady Glanville’s 
house. It was long since I had been there, and the 
servant who admitted me seemed somewhat surprised at 
the earliness of my visit. I desired to see the mother, 
and waited in the parlor till she came. I made but a 
scauty exordium to my speech. In very few words I ex- 
pressed my love to Ellen, and besought her mediation in 
my behalf ; nor did I think it would be a slight considera- 
tion in my favor, with the fond mother, to mention 
Glanville’s approbation of my suit. 

“ Ellen is up stairs in the drawing-room,” said Lady 
Glanville. “I will go and prepare her to receive you — 
if you have her consent, you have mine.” 

“Will you suffer me then,” said I, “to forestall you? 
Forgive my impatience, and let me see her before you do,” 
Lady Glanville was a woman of the good old school, 
and stood somewhat upon forms and ceremonies. I did 
not, therefore, await the answer, which I foresaw might 
not be favorable to my success, but with my customary 
assurance, left the room, and hastened up stairs. I entered 


ADVENTURES 0E A GENTLEMAN. 


225 


the drawing-room, and shut the door. Ellen was at the 
far end ; and as I entered with a light step, she did not 
perceive me till I was close by. 

She started when she saw me ; and her cheek, before 
very pale, deepened into crimson. “ Good Heavens ! is 
it you ! ” she said falteringly. “I — I thought — but — 
but excuse me for an instant, I will call my mother.” 

“ Stay for one instant, I beseech you — it is from your 
mother that I come — she has referred me to you.” And 
with a trembling and hurried voice, for all my usual bold- 
ness forsook me, I poured forth, in rapid and burning 
words, the history of my secret and hoarded love — its 
doubts, fears, and hopes. 

Ellen sank back on her chair, overpowered and silenced 
by her feelings, and the vehemence of my own. I knelt, 
and took her hand ; I covered it with mv kisses — it was 
not withdrawn from them. I raised my eyes, and beheld 
in hers all that my heart had hoped, but did not dare to 
portray. 

“ You — you,” said she — when at last she found words 
— “I imagined that you only thought of ambition and 
the world — I could not have dreamt of this.” She 
ceased, blushing and embarrassed. 

“It is true,” said I, “that you had a right to think so, 
for, till this moment, I have never opened to you even a 
glimpse of my veiled heart, and its secret and wild desires ; 
but do you think that my love was the less a treasure, 
because it was hidden ? or the less deep because it was 
vherished at the bottom of my soul ? No — no ; believe 


226 


PELHAM; OR, 

rae, that love was not to be mingled with the ordinary 
objects of life — it was too pure to be profaned by the 
levities and follies which are all of my nature that I have 
permitted myself to develope to the world. Do not im- 
agine, that, because I have seemed an idler with the idle 
— selfish with the interested — and cold, and vain, and 
frivolous, with those to whom such qualities were both a 
passport and a virtue; do not imagine that I have con- 
cealed within me nothing more worthy of you and of 
myself; my very love for you shows that I am wiser and 
better than I have seemed. Speak to me, Ellen — may 
I call you by that name — one word — one syllable ! speak 
to me, and tell me that you have read my heart, and 
that you will not reject it ! v 

There came no answer from those dear lips; but their 
soft and tender smile told me that I might hope. That 
hour I still recall and bless 1 that hour was th* happiest 
of my life. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


221 


CHAPTER LXXYII. 

A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. 

2nd Part of Henry VI. 

From Ellen, I hastened to the house of Sir Reginald. 
The hall was in all the confusion of approaching depar- 
ture. I sprang over the paraphernalia of books and boxes 
which obstructed ray way, and bounded up the stairs. 
Glanville was, as usual, alone : his countenance was less 
pale than it had been lately, and when I saw it brighten 
as I approached, I hoped, in the new happiness of my 
heart, that he might baffle both his enemy and his disease. 

I told him all that had just occurred between Ellen and 
myself. ‘‘And now,” said I, as I clasped his hand, “ I 
have a proposal to make, to which you must accede : let 
me accompany you abroad ; I will go with you to whatever 
corner of the world you may select. We will plan together 
every possible method of concealing our retreat. Upon 
the past I will never speak to you. In your hours of 
solitude I will never disturb you by an unwelcome and 
ill-timed sympathy. I will tend upon you, watch over 
you, bear with you, with more than the love and tender- 
ness of a a brother. You shall see me only when you wish 
it. Your loneliness shall never be invaded. When you 
get better, as I presage you will, I will leave you to come 
Back to England, and provide for the worst, by ensuring 


PELHAM; OR, 


your sister a protector. I will then return to you alone, 
that your seclusion may not be endangered by the know- 
ledge, even of Ellen, and you shall have me by your side 
till — till — ” 

“ The last ! ” interrupted Glanville. “ Too — too gener- 
ous Pelham, I feel — these tears (the first I have shed for 
a long, long time) tell you, that I feel to the heart — 
your friendship and disinterested attachment; but in the 
moment your love for Ellen has become successful, I will 
not tear you from its enjoyment. Believe me, all that I 
could derive from your society, could not afford me half 
the happiness I should have in knowing that you and 
Ellen were blest in each other. No — no, my solitude 
will, at that reflection, be deprived of its sting. You shall 
hear from me once again ; my letter shall contain a request, 
and your executing that last favor must console and satisfy 
the kindness of your heart. For myself, I shall die as I 
have lived — alone. All fellowship with my griefs would 
seem to me strange and unwelcome. ” 

I would not suffer Glanville to proceed. I interrupted 
him with fresh arguments and entreaties, to which he 
seemed at last to submit, and I was in the firm hope 
of having conquered his determination, when we were 
startled by a sudden and violent noise in the hall. 

“ It is Thornton,” said Glanville, calmly. “ I told them 
not to admit him, and he is forcing his way.” 

Scarcely had Sir Reginald said this, before Thornton 
burst abruptly into the room. 

Although it was scarcely noon, he was more than half 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 229 

intoxicated, and his eyes swam in his head with a maudlin 
expression of triumph and insolence as he rolled towards 
us. 

“ Oh, oh ! Sir Reginald,” he said, “thought of giving 
me the slip, eh ? Your d — d servants said you were out ; 
but I soon silenced them. Egad, I made them as nimble 
as cows in a cage — I have not learnt the use of my fists 
for nothing. So, you’re going abroad to-morrow ; without 
my leave, too, — pretty good joke that, indeed. Come, 
come, my brave fellow, you need not scowl at me in that 
way. Why, you look as surly as a butcher’s dog with a 
broken head.” 

Glanville, who was livid with ill-suppressed rage, rose 
haughtily. 

“ Mr. Thoruton,” he said, in a calm voice, although he 
was trembling in his extreme passiou, from head to foot, 
“ I am not now prepared to submit to your insolence and 
intrusion. You will leave this room instantly. If you 
have any further demands upon me, I will hear them to- 
night, at any hour you please to appoint.” 

“No, no, my fine fellow,” said Thoruton, with a coarse 
chuckle; “you have as much wit as three folks, — two 
fools, and a madman ! but you won’t do me, for all that 
The instant my back is turned, yours will be turned too ; 
and by the time I call again, your honor will be half-way 
to Calais. But — bless my stars, Mr. Pelham, is that 
you ? I really did not see you before ; I suppose you are 
not in the secret ? ” 

“I have no secrets from Mr. Pelham,” said Glanville j 

II. — 20 


230 


PELHAM ; OR, 


“nor do I care if } r ou discuss the whole of your nefarious 
transactions with me in his presence. Since you doubt my 
word, it is beneath my dignity to vindicate it, and your 
business can as well be despatched now, as hereafter. 
You have heard rightly, that I intend leaving England 
to-morrow : and now, sir, what is your will ? ” 

“ By G — , Sir Reginald Glanville ! ” exclaimed Thorn- 
ton, who seemed stung to the quick by Glanville’s con- 
temptuous coldness, “you shall ?io£leave England without 
my leave. Ay, you may frown, but I say you shall not; 
nay, you shall not budge a foot from this very room unless 
I cry, ‘Be it so ! ’ ” 

Glanville could no longer restrain himself. He would 
have sprung towards Thornton, but I seized and arrested 
him. I read, in the malignant and incensed countenance 
of his persecutor, all the danger to which a single impru- 
dence would have exposed him, and I trembled for his 
safety. 

I whispered, as I forced him again to his seat, “ Leave 
me alone to settle with this man, and I will endeavor to 
free you from him.” I did not tarry for his answer, but^ 
turning to Thornton, said to him coolly but civilly ; “Sir 
Reginald Glanville has acquainted me with the nature of 
your very extraordinary demands upon him. Did he 
adopt my advice, he would immediately place the affair 
in the hands of his legal advisers. Ilis ill health, however, 
his anxiety to leave England, and his wish to sacrifice 
almost everything to quiet, induce him, rather than take 
this alternative, to silence your importunities, by acceding 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 23? 

to claims, however illegal and unjust. If, therefore, you 
now favor Sir Reginald with your visit, for the purpose 
of making a demand previous to his quitting England, 
and which, consequently, will be the last to which he will 
concede, you will have the goodness to name the amount 
of your claim, and should it be reasonable, I think Sir 
Reginald will authorize me to say that it shall be granted.” 
“Well, now!” cried Thornton, “that’s what I call 
talking like a sensible man : and though I am not fond of 
speaking to a third person, when the principal is present, 
yet as you have always been very civil to me, I have 
no objection to treating with you. Please to give Sir 
Reginald this paper : if he will but take the trouble to 
sign it, he may go to the Falls of Niagara for me ! I won’t 
interrupt him — so he had better put pen to paper, and 
get rid of me at once, for I know I am as welcome as 
snow in harvest.” 

I took the paper, which was folded up, and gave it to 
Glanville, who leant back on his chair, half exhausted by 
rage. He glanced his eye over it, and then tore it into 
a thousand pieces, and trampled it beneath his feet: 
“Go!” exclaimed he, “go, rascal, and do your worst! 
I will not make myself a beggar to enrich you. My 
whole fortune would but answer this demand.” 

“ Do as you please, Sir Reginald,” answered Thornton, 
grinning, “ do as you please. It’s not a long walk from 
hence to Row-street, nor a long swing from Newgate to 
the gallows ; do as you please, Sir Reginald, do as you 

nlease ! ” and the villain flung himself at full length on 

2n 


232 


PELHAM; OR, 

the ottoman, and eyed Glanville’s countenance with an 
easy and malicious effrontery, which seemed to say, “ I 
know you will struggle, but you cannot help yourself.” 

I took Glanville aside: “My dear friend,” said I, 
“ believe me, that I share your indignation to the utmost ; 
but we must do anything rather than incense this wretch : 
what is his demand ? ” 

“I speak literally,” replied Glanville, “when I say, 
that it covers nearly the whole of my fortune, except 
such lands as are entailed upon the male heir ; for my 
habits of extravagance have very much curtailed mj 
means : it is the exact sum I had set apart, for a marriage 
gift to my sister, in addition to her own fortune.” 

“ Then,” said I, “ you shall give it him ; your sister 
has no longer any necessity for a portion : her marriage 
with me prevents that — and with regard to yourself, your 
wants are not many — such as it is, you can share my 
fortune.” 

“No — no — no!” cried Glanville; and his generous 
nature lashing him into fresh rage, he broke from my 
grasp, and moved menacingly to Thornton. That person 
still lay on the ottoman, regarding us with an air half 
contemptuous, half exultiug. 

“Leave the room instantly,” said Glanville, “or you 
will repent it ! ” 

“ What ! another murder, Sir Reginald ! ” said Thorn- 
ton. “ No, I am not a sparrow, to have my neck wrenched 
by a woman’s hand like yours. Give me my demand — 
sign the paper, and I will leave vou for ever and a day. * 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


233 


“ I will commit no such folly,” answered Glanvilie. 
11 If you will accept five thousand pounds, you shall have 
that sum ; but were the rope on my neck, you should not 
wring from me a farthing more ! ” 

“ Five thousand ! ” repeated Thornton ; “ a mere drop 

— a child’s toy — why, you are playing with me, Sir 
Reginald — nay, I am a reasonable man, and will abate 
a trifle or so of my just claims, but you must not take 
advantage of my good nature. Make me snug and easy 
for life — let me keep a brace of hunters — a cosy box 

— a bit of land to it, and a girl after my own heart, and 
I'll say quits with you. Now, Mr. Pelham, who is a long- 
headed gentleman, and does not spit on his own blanket , 
knows well enough that one can’t do all this for five 
thousand pounds; make it a thousand a year — that is, 
give me a cool twenty thousand — and I won’t exact 
another sou. Egad, this drinking makes one deuced thirsty 

— Mr. Pelham, just reach me that glass of water — I hear 
bees in my head /” 

Seeing that I did not stir, Thornton rose, with an oath 
against pride ; and swaggering towards the table, tool 
up a tumbler of water, which happened accidentally to 
be there : close by it was the picture of the ill-fated 
Gertrude. The gambler, who was evidently so intoxicated 
as to be scarcely conscious of his motions or words, 
(otherwise, in all probability, he would, to borrow from 
himself a proverb illustrative of his profession, have played 
his cards better,) took up the portrait. 

Glanvilie saw the action, and was by his side in aii 
20 * 


234 


PELHAM) OR, 


instant. “ Touch it not with your accursed hands ! ” he 
cried, in an ungovernable fury. “ Leave your hold this 
instant, or I will dash you to pieces.” 

Thornton kept a firm gripe of the picture. “ Here’s a 
to-do 1 ” said he, tauntingly : “ was there ever such work 

about a poor (using a word too coarse for repetition) 

before ? ” 

The word had scarcely passed his lips, when he was 
stretched at his full length upon the floor. Nor did 
Glanville stop there. With all the strength of his nervous 
frame, fully requited for the debility of disease by the fury 
of the moment, he seized the gamester as if he had been 
an infant, and dragged him to the door : the next moment, 
I heard his heavy frame rolling down the stairs with no 
decorous slowness of descent. 

Glanville re-appeared. “ Good Heavens ! ” I cried, 
“ what have you done ? ” But he was too lost in his still 
unappeased rage to heed me. He leaned, panting and 
breathless, against the wall, with clenched teeth, and a 
flashing eye, rendered more terribly bright by the feverish 
lustre natural to his disease. 

Presently I heard Thornton re-ascend the stairs ; he 
opened the door, and entered but one pace. Never did 
human face wear a more fiendish expression of malevo- 
lence and wrath. “ Sir Reginald Glanville,” he said, “ I 
thank you heartily. He must have iron nails who scratches 
a bear. Yon have sent me a challenge, and the hano*. 
man shall bring you my answer. Good day, Sir Reginald 
— good day, Mr. Pelham ; ” and so saying, he shut 4 he 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 235 

door, and, rapidly descending the stairs, was out of the 
house in an instant. 

“ There is no time to be lost,” said I ; “ order post 
horses to your carriage, and be gone instantly.” 

“You are wrong,” replied Glanville, slowly recovering 
himself. “ I must not fly ; it would be worse than useless ; 
it would seem the strongest argument against me. Re- 
member that if Thornton has really gone to inform against 
me, the officers of justice would arrest me long before I 
reached Calais ; or even if I did elude their pursuit so far, 
I should be as much in their power in France as in Eng- 
land : but, to tell you the truth, I do not think Thornton 
will inform. Money, to a temper like his, is a stronger 
temptation than revenge ; and before he has been three 
minutes in the air, he will perceive the folly of losing the 
golden harvest he may yet make of me, for the sake of a 
momentary passion. No : my best plan will be to wait 
here till to-morrow, as I originally intended. In the mean- 
while he will, in all probability, pay me another visit, and 
I will make a compromise with his demands.” 

Despite my fears, I could not but see the justice of these 
observations, the more especially as a still stronger argu- 
ment than any urged by Glanville, forced itself on my 
mind ; this was my internal conviction, that Thornton 
himself was guilty of the murder of Tyrrell, and that, 
•‘herefore, lie would, for his own sake, avoid the new and 
particularizing scrutiny into that dreadful event, which 
his accusation of Glanville would necessarily occasion. 
Roth of us were wrong. Villains have passions as 


236 


PELHAM; OR, 


well as honest men ; and they will, therefore, forfeit their 
own interest in obedience to those passions, while the 
calculations of prudence invariably suppose that interest 
is their only rule. 

Glanville was so enfeebled by his late excitement, that 
he besought me once more to leave him to himself. I 
did so, under a promise that he would admit me again in 
the evening ; for notwithstanding my persuasion that 
Thornton would not put his threats into execution, I 
could not conquer a latent foreboding of dread and evil. 


CHAPTER LXXYIII. 

Away with him to prison — where is the provost? 

Measure for Measure. 

I returned home, perplexed by a thousand contra- 
dictory thoughts upon the scene I had just witnessed ; the 
more I reflected, the more I regretted the fatality of the 
circumstances that had tempted Glanville to accede to 
Thornton’s demand. True it was, that Thornton’s self- 
regard might be deemed a sufficient guarantee for his 
concealment of such extortionate transactions : moreover, 
it was difficult to say, when the formidable array of 
appearances against Glanville was considered, whether 
any other line of conduct than that which he had adopted, 
could, with safety, have been pursued. 

His feelings, too, with regard to the unfortunate. Ger- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 237 

trude, I could fully enter into, and sympathize with ; out, 
in spite of all these considerations, it was with an inex- 
pressible aversion that I contemplated the idea of that 
tacit confession of guilt, which his compliance with Thorn- 
ton’s exactions so unhappily implied ; it was, therefore, a 
thought of some satisfaction, that my rash and hasty 
advice, of a still further concession to those exactions, had 
not been acceded to. My present intention, in the event 
of Glanville’s persevering to reject my offer of accom- 
panying him, was to remain in England, for the purpose of 
sifting the murder; nor did I despair of accomplishing 
this most desirable end, through the means of Dawson ; 
for there was but little doubt in my own mind, that 
Thornton and himself were the murderers, and I hoped 
that address or intimidation might win a confession from 
Dawson, although it might probably be unavailing with 
his hardened and crafty associate. 

Occupied with these thoughts, I endeavored to while 
away the hours till the evening summoned me once more 
to the principal object of my reflections. The instant 
Glanville’s door was opened, I saw, by one glance, that 
I had come too late ; the whole house was in confusion ; 
several of the servants were in the hall, conferring with 
each other, with that mingled mystery and agitation which 
always accompany the fears and conjectures of the lower 
classes. I took aside the valet, who had lived with Glan- 
ville for some years, and who was remarkably attached to 
his master, and learned, that, somewhat more than an 
iou r before, Mr. Thornton had returned to the house, 


233 


PELHAM; OR, 


accompanied by three men of very suspicious appearance. 

“ In short, sir,” said the man, lowering his voice to a 
whisper, “ I knew one of them by sight; he was Mr. S., 
the Bow-street officer ; with these men, Sir Reginald left 
the house, merely saying, in his usual quiet manner, that 
he did not know when he should return.” 

I concealed my perturbation, and endeavored, as far as 
I was able, to quiet the evident apprehensions of the 
servant. “At all events, Seymour,” said I, “ I know that 
I may trust you sufficiently to warn you against mention- 
ing the circumstance any farther ; above all, let me beg 
of you to stop the mouths of those idle loiterers in the 
hall — and be sure that you do not give any unnecessary 
alarm to Lady and Miss Glanville.” 

The poor man promised, with tears in his eyes, that he 
would obey my injunctions ; and, with a calm face, but a 
sickening heart, I turned away from the house. I knew 
not whither to direct my wanderings ; fortunately I re- 
collected that I should, in all probability, be among the 
first witnesses summoned on Glanville’s examination, and 
that perhaps, by the time I reached home, I might already 
receive an intimation to that effect ; accordingly, I retraced 
my steps, and, on re-entering ray hotel, was told by the 
waiter, with a mysterious air, that a gentleman was waiting 
to see me. Seated by the window in my room, and wiping 
his forehead with a red silk pocket-handkerchief, was a 
short thickset man, with a fiery and rugose complexion, 
not altogether unlike the aspect of a mulberry : from 
underneath a pair of shaggy brows peeped two singularly 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. i39 

small eyes, which made ample amends, by their fire, for 
their deficiency in size — they were black, brisk, and 
somewhat fierce in their expression. A nose of that shape 
vulgarly termed bottled, formed the “ arch sublime, ” the 
bridge, the twilight, as it w r ere, between the purple sun-set 
of one cheek, and the glowing sun-rise of the other. His 
mouth was small, and drawn up at each corner, like a 
purse — there was something sour and crabbed about it ; 
if it was like a purse, it was the purse of a miser : a fair 
round chiti had not been condemned to single blessedness 
— on the contrary, it was like a farmer’s pillion, and 
carried double ; on either side of a very low forehead, 
hedged round by closely mowed bristles of a dingy black, 
was an enormous ear of the same intensely rubicund color 
as that inflamed pendant of flesh which adorns the throat 
of an enraged turkey-cock ; — ears so large, and so red, 
1 never beheld before — they were something preposte- 
rous ! 

This enchanting figure, which was attired in a sober 
suit of leaden black, relieved by a long gold watch-chain, 
and a plentiful decoration of seals, rose at my entrance with 
a solemn grunt, and a still more solemn bow. I shut the 
door carefully, and asked him his business. As I had 

foreseen, it was a request from the magistrate at , to 

attend a private examination on the ensuing day. 

“Sad thing, sir, sad thing,” said Mr. ; “it would 

be quite shocking to hang a gentleman of Sir Reginald 
Glanville’s quality — so distinguished an orator, too ; sad 
thing, sir, — verv sad thing.” 


240 


PELHAM; OR, 


“ Oh ! ” said I, quietly, “there is not a doubt as to Sir 
Reginald’s innocence of the crime laid to him ; and, 
probably, Mr. , I may call in your assistance to- 

morrow, to ascertain the real murderers — I think I am 
possessed of some clue.” 

Mr. pricked up his ears — those enormous ears’ 

“Sir,” he said, “I shall be happy to accompany you — 
very happy ; give me the clue you speak of, and I will 
soon find the villains. Horrid thing, sir, murder — very 
horrid. It’s too hard that a gentleman cannot take his 
ride home from a race, or a merry-making, but he must 
have his throat cut from ear to ear — ear to ear, sir; ” 
and with these words, the speaker’s own auricular pro- 
tuberances seemed, as in conscious horror, to glow with a 
double carnation. 

“ Yery true, Mr. ! ” said I ; “ say I will certainly 

attend the examination — till then, good by ! ” At this 
hint, my fiery-faced friend made a low bow, and blazed 
out of the room, like the ghost of a kitchen fire. 

Left to myself, I revolved, earnestly and anxiously, 
every circumstance that could tend to diminish the ap- 
pearances against Glanville, and direct suspicion to that 
quarter where I was confident the guilt rested. In this 
endeavor I passed the time till morning, when I fell into 
an uneasy slumber, which lasted some hours; on waking, 
it was almost time to attend the magistrate’s appointment. 
I dressed hastily, and soon found myself in the room of 
inquisition. 

It is impossible to conceive a more courteous, and yet 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 241 

more equitable man, than the magistrate whom I had the 
honor of attending. lie spoke with great feeling on the 
subject for which I was summoned — owned to me, that 
Thornton’s statement was very clear and forcible — trusted 

that mv evidence would contradict an account which he 

•/ 

was very loath to believe ; and then proceeded to the 
question. I saw, with an agony which I can scarcely 
express, that all my answers made powerfully against the 
cause I endeavored to support. I was obliged to own 
that a man on horseback passed me soon after Tyrrell 
had quitted me ; that, on coming to the spot where the 
deceased was found, I saw this same horseman on the 
very place : that I believed, nay, that I was sure, (how 
ould I evade this ?) that this man was Reginald Glanville. 

Farther evidence, Thornton had already offered to 
adduce. He could prove, that the said horseman had 
been mounted on a grey horse, sold to a person answering 
exactly to the description of Sir Reginald Glanville; 
moreover, that that horse was yet in the stables of the 
prisoner. He produced a letter, which, he said, he had 
found upon the person of the deceased, signed by Sir 
Reginald Glanville, and containing the most deadly threats 
against Sir John Tyrrell’s life ; and, to crown all, he 
called upon me to witness, that we had both discovered 
upon the spot where the murder was committed, a picture 
belonging to the prisoner, since restored to him, and now 
m his possession. 

At the close of this examination, the worthv magistrate 
Bhook his head, in evident distress ! “ I have known Sir 

a. — 21 


242 


PELHAM; OR, 


Reginald Glanville personally,” said he : “in private as 
in public life, I have always thought him the most upright 
and honorable of men. I feel the greatest pain in saying, 
that it will be my duty fully to commit him for trial.” 

I interrupted the magistrate ; I demanded that Dawson 
should be produced. “ I have already,” said he, “ inquired 
of Thornton respecting that person, whose testimony is 
of evident importance ; he tells me that Dawson has left 
the country, and can give me no clue of his address.” 

“ He lies ! ” cried I, in the abrupt anguish of my heart ; 
“his associate shall be produced. Hear me, I have been, 
next to Thornton, the chief witness against the prisoner, 
and when I swear to you, that, in spite of all appearances, 
I most solemnly believe in his innocence, you may rely on 
my assurance, that there are circumstances in his favor 
which have not yet been considered, but which I will 
pledge myself hereafter to adduce.” I then related to 
the private ear of the magistrate my firm conviction of 
the guilt of the accuser himself. I dwelt forcibly upon 
he circumstance of Tyrrell’s having mentioned to me 
lat Thornton was aware of the large sum he had on his 
person, and of the strange disappearance of that sum, 
when his body was examined in the fatal field. After 
noting how impossible it was that Glanville could have 
stolen the money, I insisted strongly on the distressed 
circumstances — the dissolute habits, and the hardened 
character, of Thornton — I recalled to the mind of the 
magistrate the singularity of Thornton’s absence from 
nome when I called there, and the doubtful nature of his 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 243 

excuse : much more I said, but all equally in Tain. The 
only point where I was successful, was in pressing for a 
delay, which was granted to the passionate manner in 
which I expressed my persuasion that I could confirm my 
suspicions by much stronger data before the reprieve 
expired. 

“ It is very true,” said the righteous magistrate, “that 
there are appearances somewhat against the witness ; but 
certainly not tantamount to anything above a slight sus- 
picion. If, however, you positively think you can ascer- 
tain any facts, to elucidate this mysterious crime, and 
point the inquiries of justice to another quarter, I will 
so far strain the question, as to remand the prisoner to 
another day — let us say the day after to-morrow. If 
nothing important can before then be found in his favor 
he must be committed for trial.” 


CHAPTER LXXIX. 

Nihil est furacius illo: 

Non fait Autolyci tam piceata manus. — Martial. 

Quo toncam vultus mutantem Protea nodo? — Horat. 

When I left the magistrate, I knew not whither my 
next step should tend. There was, however, no time to 
indulge the idle stupor which Glanville’s situation at first 
occasioned ; with a violent effort, I shook it off, and bent 


244 


PELI1AM; OR, 




ail my mind to discover the best method to avail myself, 
to the utmost, of the short reprieve I had succeeded in 
obtaining. At length, one of those sudden thoughts 
which, from their suddenness, appear more brilliant than 
they really are, flashed upon my mind. I remembered the 
accomplished character of Mr. Job Jonson, and the cir- 
cumstance of my having seen him in company with Thorn- 
ton. Now, although it was not very likely that Thornton 
should have made Mr. Jonson his confidant, in any of 
those affairs which it was so essentially his advantage to 
confine exclusively to himself; yet the acuteness and 
penetration visible in the character of the worthy Job, 
might not have lain so fallow during his companionship 
with Thornton, but that it might have made some dis- 
coveries which would considerably assist me in my re- 
searches ; besides, as it is literally true in the systematized 
roguery of London, that “birds of a feather flock toge- 
ther,” it was by no means unlikely that the honest Job 
might be honored with the friendship of Mr. Dawson, as 
well as the company of Mr. Thornton ; in which case I 
looked forward with greater confidence to the detection 
of the notable pair. 

I could not, however, conceal from myself, that this was 
but a very unstable and ill-linked chain of reasoning ; anc 
there were moments, when the appearances against Gian 
ville wore so close a semblance of truth, that all my friend- 
ship could scarcely drive from my mind an intrusive sus- 
picion that he might have deceived me, and that the 
accusation might not be groundless. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 245 

This unwelcome idea did not, however, at all lessen the 
rapidity with which I hastened towards the memorable 
gin-shop, where I had whilom met Mr. Gordon : there I 
hoped to find either the address of that gentleman, or of 
the “ Club,” to which he had taken me, in company with 
Tringle and Dartmore : either at this said club, or of that 
said gentleman, I thought it not unlikely that I might 
hear some tidings of the person of Mr. Job Jonson — if 
not, I was resolved to return to the office, and employ 

Mr. , my mulberry-cheeked acquaintance of the last 

night, in search after the holy Job. 

Fate saved me a world of trouble : as I was hastily 
walking onwards, I happened to turn my eyes on the 
opposite side of the way, and discovered a man dressed 
in what the newspapers term the very height of fashion, 
viz. : in the most ostentatious attire that ever flaunted at 
Margate, or blazed in the Palais Boyal. The nether 
garments of this petit-maltre consisted of a pair of blue 
tight pantaloons, profusely braided, and terminating in 
Hessian boots, adorned with brass spurs of the most bur- 
nished resplendency ; a black velvet waistcoat studded 
with gold stars, was backed by a green frock coat, covered, 
notwithstanding the heat of the weather, with fur, and 
frogged and cordonne with the most lordly indifference, 
both as to taste and expense : a small French hat, which 

might not have been much too large for my lord of , 

was set jauntily in the centre of a system of long black 
curls, which my eye, long accustomed to penetrate the 

arcana of habilatory art, discovered at once to be a wig 

21 * 


246 


PELHAM; OR. 

A fierce black mustachio, very much curled, wandered 
lovingly from the upper lip towards the eyes, which had 
an unfortunate prepossession for eccentricity in their 
direction. To complete the picture, we must suppose 
some coloring — and this consisted in a very nice and 
delicate touch of the rouge pot, which could not be called 
by so harsh a term as paint ; — say rather that it was a 
tinge ! 

No sooner had I set my eyes upon this figure, than I 
crossed over to the side of the way which it was adorn- 
ing, and followed its motions at a respectful but observant 
distance. 

At length my freluquet marched into a jeweller’s shop 
in Oxford street ; with a careless air, I affected, two 
minutes afterwards, to saunter into the same shop ; the 
shopman was showing his bijouterie to him of the Hessians 
with the greatest respect ; and, beguiled by the splendor 
of the wig and waistcoat, turned me over to his appren- 
tice. Another time, I might have been indignant at per- 
ceiving that the air noble , on which I so much piqued 
myself, was by no meaus so universally acknowledged as 
I had vainly imagined : — at that moment I was too occu- 
pied to think of my' insulted dignity. While I was pre- 
tending to appear wholly engrossed with some seals, I 
kept a vigilant eye on my superb fellow-customer ; at last, 
I saw him secrete a diamond ring, and thrust it, by a sin- 
gular movement of the fore-finger, up the fur cuff of his 
capacious sleeve; presently, some other article of minute 
size disappeared in the like mariner 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 247 

The gentleman then rose, expressed himself very well 
satisfied by the great taste of the jeweller, said he should 
look in again on Saturday, when he hoped the set he had 
ordered would be completed, and gravely took his de- 
parture amidst the prodigal bows of the shopman and his 
helpmates. Meanwhile, I bought a seal of small value, 
and followed my old acquaintance, for the reader has 
doubtless discovered, long before this, that the gentleman 
was no other than Mr. Job Jonson. 

Slowly and struttingly did the man of two virtues per- 
form the whole pilgrimage of Oxford street. He stopped 
at Cumberland-gate, and, looking round, with an air of 
gentlemanlike indecision, seemed to consider whether or 
not he should join the loungers in the park: fortunately 
for the well-bred set, his doubts terminated in their favor, 
and Mr. Job Jonson entered the park. Every one hap- 
pened to be thronging to Kensington Gardens, and the 
man of two virtues accordingly cut across the park as the 
shortest, but the least frequented way thither, in order to 
confer upon the seekers of pleasure the dangerous honor 
of his company. 

As soon as I perceived that there were but few persons 
in the immediate locality to observe me, and that those 
consisted of a tall guardsman and his wife, a family of 
young children with their nursery-maid, and a debilitated 
East India Captain, walking for the sake of his liver, I 
overtook the incomparable Job, made him a low bow, 
and thus reverently accosted him — 

“Mr. Jonson, I am delighted once more to meet vou— 

7 O v 

2o 


248 


PELHAM; OR, 


suffer me to remind you of the very pleasant morning I 
passed with you in the neighborhood of Hampton Court. 
I perceive, by your mustachios and military dress, that 
you have entered the army, since that day ; I congratulate 
the British troops on so admirable an acquisition. ” 

Mr. Jonson’s assurance forsook him for a moment, but 
he lost no time in regaining a quality which was so natural 
to his character. He assumed a fierce look, and, relevant 
samoustache, sourit amerement , like Yoltaire’s governor.* 
— “D — me, sir,” ‘he cried, “do you mean to insult me? 
I know none of your Mr. Jonsons, and I never set my 
eyes upon you before.” 

“Lookye, my dear Mr. Job Jonson,” replied I, “ as I 
can prove not only all I say, but much more that I shall 
not say — such as your little mistakes just now, at the 
jeweller’s shop in Oxford street, &c. &c., perhaps itw r ould 
be better for you not to oblige me to create a mob, and 
give you in charge — pardon my abruptness of speech — . 
to a constable ! — Surely there will be no need of such a 
disagreeable occurrence, when I assure you, in the first 
place, that I perfectly forgive you for ridding me of the 
unnecessary comforts of a pocket-book and handkerchief, 
the unphilosophical appendage of a purse, and the effemi- 
nate love-token of a gold locket; nor is this all — it is 
perfectly indifferent to me, whether you levy contributions 
on jew T ellers or gentlemen, and I am very far from wishing 
to intrude upon your harmless occupations, or to interfere 


* Don Fernand d’lbarra, in the “ Condide.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 249 

with your innocent amusements. I see, Mr. Jonson, that 
you are beginning to understand me ; let me facilitate so 
desirable an end by an additional information, that, since 
it is preceded with a promise to open my purse, may tend 
somewhat to open your heart; I am at this moment in 
great want of your assistance — favor me with it, and I 
will pay you to your soul’s content. Are we friends now, 
Mr. Job Jonson ? ” 

My old friend burst out into a loud laugh. “ Well, sir, 
I must say that your frankness enchants me. 1 can no 
longer dissemble with you ; indeed, I perceive it would be 
useless ; besides, I always adored candor — it is my favorite 
virtue. Tell me how I can help you, and you may com- 
mand my services.” 

“ One word,” said I : “ will you be open and ingenuous 
with me ? I shall ask you certain questions, not in the 
least affecting your own safety, but to which, if you would 
serve me, you must give me (and, since candor is your 
favorite virtue, this will be no difficult task) your most 
candid replies. To strengthen you in so righteous a course, 
know also that the said replies will come verbatim before 
a court of law, and that, therefore, it will be a matter of 
prudence to shape them as closely to the truth as your 
inclinations will allow. To counterbalance this informa- 
tion, which, I own, is not very inviting, I repeat that the 
questions asked you will be wholly foreign to your own 
affairs, and that, should you prove of that assistance to 
me which I anticipate, I will so testify my gratitude as 
to place you beyond the necessity of pillaging rural young 


250 


PELHAM; OR, 


gentlemen and credulous shopkeepers for the future ; 
all your present pursuits need thenceforth only be carried 
on for your private amusement.” 

“I repeat, that you may command me,” returned Mr 
Jonson, gracefully putting his hand to his heart. 

“ Pray then,” said I, “ to come at once to the point, 
how long have you been acquainted with Mr. Thomas 
Thornton ? ” 

“For some months only,” returned Job, without the 
least embarrassment. 

“And Mr. Dawson ?” said I. 

A slight change came over Jonson’s countenance; he 
hesitated. “ Excuse me, sir,” said he ; “ but I am, really, 
perfectly unacquainted with you, and I may be falling 
into some trap of the law, of which, Heaven knows, I 
agi as ignorant as a babe unborn.” 

I saw the knavish justice of this remark : and in my 
predominating zeal to serve Glanville, I looked upon the 
inconvenience of discovering myself to a pickpocket and 
sharper, as a consideration not worth attending to. In 
order, therefore, to remove his doubts, and, at the same 
time, to have a more secret and undisturbed place for our 
conference, I proposed to him to accompany me home 
At first, Mr. Jonson demurred, but I soon half- persuaded 
and half-intimidated him into compliance. 

Not particularly liking to be publicly seen with a per- 
son of his splendid description and celebrated character, 
I made him walk before me to Mivart’s, and I followed 
him closely, never turning my eye either to the right or 


ADVENTURES Of A GENTLEMAN. 251 

left, lest he should endeavor to escape me. There was 
no fear of this, for Mr. Jonson was both a bold and a 
crafty man, and it required, perhaps, but little of his 
penetration to discover that I was no officer nor informer, 
and that my communication had been of a nature likely 
enough to terminate in his advantage; there was, there* 
fore, but little need of his courage in accompanying me 
to my hotel. 

There were a good many foreigners of rank at Mivart’s, 
and the waiters took my companion for an ambassador at 
least : — he received their homage with the mingled dignity 
and condescension natural to so great a man. 

As the day was now far advanced, I deemed it but hos- 
pitable to offer Mr. Job Jonson some edible refreshment. 
With the frankness on which he so justly valued himself, 
he accepted my proposal. I ordered some cold meat ar^ 
two bottles of wine; and, mindful of old maxims, deferred 
my business till his repast was over. I conversed with 
him merely upon ordinary topics, and, at another time, 
should have been much amused by the singular mixture 
of impudence and shrewdness which formed the stratum 
of his character. 

At length his appetite was satisfied, and one of the 
bottles emptied ; with the other before him, his body 
easily reclining on my library chair, his eyes apparently 
cast downwards, but ever and anon glancing up at my 
countenance with a searching and curious look, Mr. Job 
Jonson prepared himself for our conference; accordingly 
l began : — 


252 


PELHAM; Ok, 


“You say that you are acquainted with Mr. Dawson ; 
where is he at present ? ” 

“I don’t know,” answered Jonson, laconically. 

“Come,” said I, “no trifling — if you do not know, 
you can learn.” 

“ Possibly I can, in the course of time,” rejoined honest 
Job. 

“If you cannot tell me his residence at once,” said I, 
“ our conference is at an end ; that is a leading feature in 
my inquiries.” 

Jonson paused before he replied — “You have spoken 
to me frankly; let us do nothing by halves — tell me, at 
once, the nature of the service I can do you, and the 
amount of my reward, and then you shall have my an- 
swer. With respect to Dawson, I will confess to you 
that I did once know him well, and that we have done 
many a mad prank together, which I should not like the 
bugaboos and bulkies to know ; you will, therefore, see 
that I am naturally reluctant to tell you anything about 
him, unless your honor will inform me of the why and 
the wherefore.” 

I was somewhat startled by this speech, and by the 
shrewd, cunning eye which dwelt upon me as it was 
uttered ; but, however, I was by no means sure that ac- 
ceding to his proposal would not be my readiest and 
wisest way to the object I had in view. Nevertheless, 
there were some preliminary questions to be got over 
first : perhaps Dawson might be too dear a friend to the 
candid Job, for the latter to endanger his safety; or per- 


ADVENTURES OE A GENTLEMAN. 253 

haps (and this was more probable) Jonson might be per- 
fectly ignorant of anything likely to aid me ; in this case 
my communication would be useless ; accordingly I said, 
after a short consideration — 

“ Patience, my dear Mr. Jonson — patience ; you shall 
know all in good time; meanwhile I must — even for 
Dawson’s sake — question you blindfold. What, now, if 
your poor friend Dawson were in imminent danger, and 
you had, if it so pleased you, the power to save him ; 
would you not do all you could?” 

The small, coarse features of Mr. Job grew blank with 
a curious sort of disappointment: “Is that all?” said 
he. “No ! unless I were well paid for my pains in his 
behalf, he might go to Botany Bay, for all I care.” 
“What ! ” I cried, in a tone of reproach, “is this your 
friendship ? I thought, just now, that you said Dawson 
had been an old and firm associate of yours.” 

“An old one, your honor but not a firm one. A short 
time ago, I was in great distress, and he and Thornton 
had, deuce knows how! about two thousand between 
them ; but I could not worm a stiver out of Dawson — 
that gripe-all, Thornton, got it all from him.” 

“ Two thousand pounds ! ” said I, in a calm voice, 
though my heart beat violently, “that’s a great sum for 
a poor fellow like Dawson. How long ago is it since he 
had it ? ” 

“About two or three months,” answered Jonson. 
“Pray,” I asked, “have you seen much of Dawson 
lately ? ” 

II. — 22 


£54 


PELHAM; OR, 

“I have,” replied Jonson. 

“ Indeed ! ” said I. “ I thought you told me, just now, 
that you were unacquainted with his residence ? ” 

“So I am,” replied Jonson, coldly; “it is not at his 
own house that I ever see him.” 

I was silent, for I was now rapidly and minutely weigh- 
ing the benefits and disadvantages of trusting Jonson as 
he had desired ne to do. 

To reduce the question to the simplest form of logic, 
he had either the power of assisting my investigation, or 
he had not ; if not, neither could he much impede it, and, 
therefore, it mattered little whether he was in my confi- 
dence or not ; if he had the power, the doubt was, whether 
it would be better for me to benefit by it openly, or by 
stratagem; that is — whether it were wiser to state the 
whole case to him, or continue to gain whatever I was 
able by dint of a blind examination. Now, the disad- 
vantage of candor was, that if it were his wish to screen 
Dawson and his friend, he would be prepared to do so, 
and even to put them on their guard against my suspi- 
cions ; but the indifference he had testified with regard 
to Dawson seemed to render this probability very small. 
The benefits of candor were more prominent: Job would 
then be fully aware that his own safetv was not at stake; 
and should I make it more his interest to serve the inno- 
cent than the guilty, I should have the entire advantage, 
not only of any actual information he might possess, but 
of his skill and shrewdness in providing additional proof, 
or at least suggesting advantageous hints. Moreover, in 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 255 

spite of my vanity and opinion of my own penetration, X 
could not but confess that it was unlikely that my cross 
examination would be very successful with so old and 
experienced a sinner as Mr. Jonson. “Set a thief to 
catch a thief,” is among the wisest of wise sayings, and 
accordingly I resolved in favor of a disclosure. 

Drawing my chair close to Jonson’s, and fixing my 
eye upon his countenance, I briefly proceeded to sketch 
Glanville’s situation (only concealing his name) and 
Thornton’s charges. I mentioned my own suspicions of 
the accuser, and my desire of discovering Dawson, whom 
Thornton appeared to me artfully to secrete. Lastly, I 
concluded with a solemn promise, that if my listener could, 
by any zeal, exertion, knowledge, or contrivance of his 
own, procure the detection of the men who, I was con- 
vinced, were the murderers, a pension of three hundred 
pounds a year should be immediately settled upon him. 

During my communication, the patient Job sat mute 
and still, fixing his eyes on the ground, and only betray- 
. ing, by an occasional elevation of the brows, that he took 
the slightest interest in the tale : when, however, I touched 
upon the peroration, which so tenderly concluded with the 
mention of three hundred pounds a year, a visible change 
came over the countenance of Mr. Jonson. He rubbed 
his hands with an air of great content, and one sudden 
smile broke over his features, and almost buried his eyes 
amid the intricate host of wrinkles which it called forth : 
the smile vanished as rapidly as it came, and Mr. Job 
turned round to me with a solemn and sedate aspect. 


256 


PELHAM; 0 E , 


“Well, your honor,” said he, “I’m glad you’ve told 
me all : we must see what can be done. As for Thorn- 
ton, I’m afraid we sha’n’t make much out of him, for 
he ’s an old offender, whose conscience is as hard as a 
brickbat; but of Dawson I hope better things. How- 
ever, you must let me go now, for this is a matter that 
requires a vast deal of private consideration. I shall call 
upon you to-morrow, sir, before ten o’clock, since you 
say matters are so pressing ; and I trust you will then 
see that you have no reason to repent of the confidence 
you have placed in a man of honor.” 

So saying, Mr. Job Jonson emptied the remainder of 
the bottle into his tumbler, held it up to the light with 
the gusto of a connoisseur, and concluded his potations 
with a hearty smack of the lips, followed by a long sigh. 

“Ah, your honor,” said he, “good wine is a marvellous 
whetter of the intellect ; but your true philosopher is 
always moderate : for my part, I never exceed my two 
bottles.” 

And with these words, this true philosopher took his 
departure. 

No sooner was I freed from his presence, than my 
thoughts flew to Ellen ; I had neither been able to call 
nor write the whole of the day; and I was painfully fear- 
ful lest my precaution with Sir Reginald’s valet had been 
frustrated, and the alarm of his imprisonment had reached 
her and Lady Glanville. Harassed by this fear, I disre- 
garded the lateness of the hour, and immediately repaired 
to Berkeley-square. 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 257 


Lady and Miss Glanville were alone and at dinner: 
the servant spoke with his usual unconcern. “ They are 
quite well ? ” said I, relieved, but still anxious : and the 
servant replying in the affirmative, I again returned 
home, and wrote a long and, I hope, consoling letter to 
Sir Reginald. 


CHAPTER L X X X. 

K. Henry . Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head. 

Say Ay, but I hope your Highness shall have his. 

Second Part of Henry IV. 

Punctual to his appointment, the next morning came 
Mr. Job Jonson. I had been on the rack of expectation 
for the last three hours previous to his arrival, and the 
warmth of my welcome must have removed any little 
diffidence with which so shamefaced a gentleman might 
possibly have been troubled. 

At my request, he sat himself down, and seeing that 
my breakfast things were on the table, remarked what a 
famous appetite the fresh air always gave him. I took 
the hint, and pushed the rolls towards him. He imme- 
diately fell to work, and, for the next quarter of an hour, 
his mouth was far too well occupied for the intrusive im- 
pertinence of words. At last the things were removed 
and Mr. Jonson began. 

“ I have thought well over the matter, your honor, and 
22 * 


258 


PELHAM; OK, 


I believe we can manage to trounce the rascals — for 1 
agree with you, that there is not a doubt that Thornton 
and Dawson are the real criminals ; but the affair, sir, is 
one of the greatest difficulty and importance — nay, of 
the greatest personal danger. My life may be the forfeit 
of my desire to serve you — you will not, therefore, be 
surprised at my accepting your liberal offer of three hun- 
dred a year, should I be successful ; although I do assure 
you, sir, that it was my original intention to reject all re- 
compense, for I am naturally benevolent, and love doing 
a good action. Indeed, sir, if I were alone in the world, 
I should scorn any remuneration, for virtue is its own 
reward ; but a real moralist, your honor, must not forget 
his duties on any consideration, and I have a little family 
to whom my loss would be an irreparable injury; this, 
upon my honor, is my only inducement for taking advan- 
tage of your generosity ; ” and, as the moralist ceased, 
he took out of his waistcoat pocket a paper, which he 
handed to me with his usual bow of deference. 

I glanced over it — it was a bond, apparently drawn up 
in all the legal formalities, pledging myself, in case Job 
Jonson, before the expiration of three days, gave that 
information which should lead to the detection and pun- 
ishment of the true murderers of Sir John Tyrrell, de- 
ceased, to insure to the said Job Jonson the yearly an- 
nuity of three hundred pounds. 

“It is with much pleasure that I shall sign this paper,” 
said I ; “ but allow me, par parenthese , to observe that 
since you only accept the annuity for the sake of * me- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 25$ 


fiting your little family, in case of your death, this an- 
nuity, ceasing with your life, will leave your children as 
penniless as at present.” 

“ Pardon me, your honor,” rejoined Job, not a whit 
daunted at the truth of my remark, “I can insure /” 

“ I forgot that,” said I, signing and restoring the paper : 
“and now to business.” 

Jonson gravely and carefully looked over the interest- 
ing document I returned to him, and carefully lapping it 
in three envelopes, inserted it in a huge red pocket-book, 
which he thrust into an innermost pocket in his waistcoat. 

“ Right, sir,” said he, slowly; “to business. Before I 
begin, you must, how r ever, promise me, upon your honor 
as a gentleman, the strictest secrecy as to my communi- 
cations.” 

I readily agreed to this, so far as that secrecy did not 
impede my present object; and Job, being content with 
this condition, resumed. 

“ You must forgive me, if, in order to arrive at the 
point in question, I set out from one which may seem to 
you a little distant.” 

I nodded my assent, and Job continued. 

“ I have known Dawson for some years ; my acquaint- 
ance with him commenced at Newmiarket, for I have 
always had a slight tendency to the turf. He was a 
wild, foolish fellow, easily led into any mischief, but ever 
the first to sneak out of it; in short, when he became 
one of us, which his extravagance soon compelled him 
to do, we considered him as a very serviceable tool, but 


260 


PELHAM; OR, 

one who, while he was quite wicked enough to begin a 
bad action, was much too weak to go through with it ; 
accordingly he was often employed, but never trusted. 
By the word vs, which I see has excited your curiosity, 
I merely mean a body corporate, established furtively and 
restricted solely to exploits on the turf. I think it right 
to mention this (continued Mr. Jonson, aristocratically), 
because I have the honor to belong to many other socie- 
ties to which Dawson could never have been admitted. 
Well, sir, our club was at last broken up, and Dawson 
was left to shift for himself. His father was still alive, 
and the young hopeful, having quarrelled with him, was 
in the greatest distress. He came to me with a pitifvl 
story, and a more pitiful face ; so I took compassion upon 
the poor devil, and procured him, by dint of great inter- 
est, admission into a knot of good fellows, whom I visited, 
by the way, last night. Here I took him under my espe- 
cial care ; and, as fai* as I could, with such a dull-headed 
dromedary, taught him some of the most elegant arts of 
my profession. However, the ungrateful dog soon stole 
back to his old courses, and robbed me of half my share 
of a booty to which I had helped him myself. I hate 
treachery and ingratitude, your honor ; they are <so ter- 
ribly ungentlemanlike ! 

“I then lost sight of him till between two and threo 
months ago, when he returned to town and attended our 
meetings in company with Tom Thornton, who had been 
chosen a member of the club some months before. Since 
we had met, Dawson’s father had died, and I thought hi* 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 261 

flash appearance in town arose from his new inheritance. 
I was mistaken : old Dawson had tied up the property 
so tightly, that the young one could not scrape enough 
to pay his debts ; accordingly, before he came to town 
he gave up his life interest in the property to his credi- 
tors. However that be, Master Dawson seemed at the 
top of Fortune’s wheel. He kept his horses, and sported 
the set to champagne and venison : in short, there would 
have been no end to his extravagance, had not Thornton 
sucked him like a leech. 

“ It was about that time that I asked Dawson for a 
trifle to keep me from gaol : for I was ill in bed, and 
could not help myself. Will you believe, sir, that the 
rascal told me to go and be d — d, and Thornton said 
amen? I did not forget the ingratitude of my protege, 
though when I recovered I appeared entirely to do so. 
No sooner could I walk about, than I relieved all my 
necessities. He is but a fool who starves, with all Lon- 
don before him ! In proportion as my finances improved, 
Dawson’s visibly decayed. With them, decreased also 
his. spirits. He became pensive and downcast ; never 
joined any of our parties, and gradually grew quite a 
useless member of the corporation. To add to his mel- 
ancholy, he was one morning present at' the execution of 
an unfortunate associate of ours ; this made a deep im- 
pression upon him ; from that moment he became thor- 
oughly moody and despondent. He was frequently heard 
talking to himself, could not endure to be left alone in 
the dark, and began rapidly to pine away. 


262 


1> E L II A M ; OR, 


“One night when he and I were seated together, he 
asked me if I never repented of my sins, and then added, 
with a groan, that I had never committed the heinous 
crime he had. I pressed him to confess, but he would 
not. However, I coupled that half avowal with his sud- 
den riches, and the mysterious circumstances of Sir John 
Tyrrell’s death ; and dark suspicions came into my mind. 

At that time, and indeed ever since Dawson reappeared, 
we were often in the habit of discussing the notorious 
murder which then engrossed public attention ; and as 
Dawson and Thornton had been witnesses on the inquest, 
we frequently referred to them respecting it. Dawson 
always turned pale, and avoided the subject ; Thornton, 
on the contrary, brazened it out with his usual impudence. 
Dawson’s aversion to the mention of the murder now 
came into my remembrance with double weight, to 
strengthen my suspicions; and, on conversing with one » 
or two of our comrades, I found that my doubts were 
more than shared, and that Dawson had frequently, when 
unusually oppressed with his hypochondria, hinted at his 
committal of some dreadful crime, and at his unceasing 
remorse for it. 

“By degrees, Dawson grew worse and worse — his 
health decayed, he started at a shadow — drank deeply, 
and spoke, in his intoxication, words that made the hairs 
of our green men stand on end. 

“ ‘We must not suffer this,’ said Thornton, whose hardy 
effrontery enabled him to lord it over the jolly boys as if 
ne were their chief : ‘ his ravings and humdurgeon will 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 2G& 

unman all our youngsters.’ And so, under this pretence, 
Thornton had the unhappy man conveyed away to a se- 
cret asylum, known only to the chiefs of the gang, and 
appropriated to the reception of persons who, from the 
same weakness as Dawson, were likely to endanger others 
or themselves. There many a poor wretch has been se- 
cretly immured, and never suffered to revisit the light of 
Heaven. The moon’s minions, as well as the monarch’s, 
must have their State prisoners, and their State victims. 

“Well, sir, I shall not detain you much longer. Last 
night, after your obliging confidence, I repaired to the 
meeting ; Thornton was there, and very much out of 
humor. When our messmates dropped off*, and we were 
alone at one corner of the room, I began talking to him 
carelessly about his accusation of your friend, who, I have 
since learnt, is Sir Reginald Glanville — an old friend of 
mine, too ; ay, you may look, sir, — but 1 can stake my 
life to having picked his pocket one night at the Opera ! 
Thornton was greatly surprised at my early intelligence 
of a fact hitherto kept so profound a secret ; however, I 
explained it away by a boast of my skill in acquiring in- 
formation ; and he then incautiously let out, that he was 
exceedingly vexed with himself for the charge he had 
made against the prisoner, and very uneasy at the urgent 
inquiries set on foot for Dawson. More and more con- 
vinced of his guilt, I quitted the meeting, and went to 
Dawson’s retreat. 

“ For fear of his escape, Thornton had had him blosely 
confined in one of the most secret rooms in the house. 


2p 


264 


PELHAM; OR, 


His solitude and the darkness of the place, combined 
with his remorse, had worked upon a mind, never too 
strong, almost to insanity. He was writhing with the 
most acute and morbid pangs of conscience that my 
experience, which has been pretty ample, ever witnessed. 
The old hag who is the Hecate (you see, sir, I have had a 
classical education) of the place, was very loath to admit 
me to him, for Thornton had bullied her into a great fear 
of the consequences of disobeying his instructions ; but 
she did not dare to resist my orders. Accordingly I had 
a long interview with the unfortunate man ; he firmly be- 
lieves that Thornton intends to murder him ; and says, 
that if he could escape from his dungeon, he would sur- 
render himself to the first magistrate he could find. 

“ I told him that an innocent man had been appre- 
hended for the crime of which I knew he and Thornton 
were guilty ; and then taking upon myself the office of a 
preacher, I exhorted him to atone, as far as possible, for 
his past crime, by a full and faithful confession, that would 
deliver the innocent and punish the guilty. I held out to 
him the hope that this confession might perhaps serve the 
purpose of king’s evidence, and obtain him a pardon for 
his crime ; and I promised to use my utmost zeal and 
diligence to promote his escape from his present den. 

“ He said, in answer, that he did not wish to live ; tnat 
he suffered the greatest tortures of mind ; and that the 
only comfort earth held out to him would be to ease his 
remorse by a full acknowledgment of his crime, and to 
hope for future mercv bv expiating his offence on the 


AT) VENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 265 

scaffold ; all this, and much more to the same purpose, 
the hen-hearted fellow told me with sighs and groans. I 
would fain have taken his confession on the spot, and 
carried it away with me, but he refused to give it to me, 
or to any one but a parson, whose services he implored 
me to procure him. I told him, at first, that the thing 
was impossible ; but, moved by his distress and remorse, 
I promised, at last, to bring one to-night, who should 
both administer spiritual comfort to him and receive his 
deposition. My idea at the moment was to disguise my- 
self in the dress of the pater cove * and perform the 
double job: — since then I have thought of a better 
scheme. 

“As my character, you see, your honor, is not so highly 
prized by the magistrates as it ought to be, any confession 
made to me might not be of the same value as if it were 
made to any one else — to a gentleman like you, for in- 
stance ; and, moreover, it will not do for me to appear in 
evidence against any of the fraternity ; and for two rea- 
sons : first, because I have sworn a solemn oath never to 
do so ; and, secondly, because I have a very fair chance 
of joining Sir John Tyrrell in kingdom come if I do. 
My present plan, therefore, if it meets your concurrence, 
would be to introduce your honor as the parson, and for 
you to receive the confession, which, indeed, you might 
take down in writing. This plan, I candidly confess, is 

* Gipsy slang— a parson, or minister — but generally applied 
to a priest of the lowest order. 


II.— 23 


26 t> 


PELHAM; OR, 


not without great difficulty, and some danger ; for I have 
not only to impose you upon Dawson as a priest, but also 
upon Brimstone Bess as one of our jolly boys ; since I 
need not tell you that any real parson might knock a long 
time at her door before it would be opened to him. You 
must, therefore, be as mum as a mole unless she cants tc 
you, and your answers must then be such as I shall die 
tate ; otherwise she may detect you, and, should any ot 
the true men be in the house, we should both come ofl 
w r orse than we went in.” 

“My dear Mr. Job,” replied I, “there appears to me 
to be a much easier plan than all this ; and that is, simply 
to tell the Bow-street officers where Dawson may be found, 
and I think they would be able to carry him away from 
the arms of Mrs. Brimstone Bess, without any great diffi- 
culty or danger.” 

Jonson smiled. 

“I should not long enjoy my annuity, your honor, if I 
vere to set the runners upon our best hive. I should be 
stung to death before the week were out. Even you, 
should you accompany me to-night, will never know where 
the spot is situated, nor would you discover it again if 
you searched all London, with the whole police at your 
back. Besides, Dawson is not the only person in the 
house for whom the law is hunting — there are a score 

others whom I have no desire to give up to the gallows 

hid among the odds and ends of the house, as snug as 
plums in a pudding. Honor forbid that I should betray 


ADVENTURES OE A GENTLEMAN. 261 

them — and for nothing too ! No, sir, the only plan I can 
think of is the one I proposed ; if you do not approve of 
it, (and it certainly is open to exception,) I must devise 
some other: but that may require delay.” 

“ No, my good Job,” replied I, “ I am ready to attend 
you : but could we not manage to release Dawson, as well 
as take his deposition ? — his personal evidence is worth 
all the written ones in the world.” 

“Very true,” answered Job, “and if it be possible ta 
give Bess the slip we will. However, let us not lose what 
we may get by grasping at what we may not ; let us have 
the confession first, and we ’ll try for the release after- 
wards. I have another reason for this, sir, which, if you 
knew as much of penitent prigs as I do, you would easily 
understand. However, it may be explained by the old 
proverb of ‘the devil was sick,’ &c. As long as Dawson 
is stowed away in a dark hole and fancies devils in every 
corner, he may be very anxious to make confessions, which, 
in broad day-light, may not seem to him so desirable. 
Darkness and solitude are strange stimulants to the con- 
science, and we may as well not lose any advantage they 
'give us.” 

“You are an admirable reasoner,” cried I, “and I am 
impatient to accompany you — at what hour shall it be ? ” 
“Not much before midnight,” answered Jonson ; “but 
your honor must go back to school and learn lessons be- 
fore then. Suppose Bess were to address you thus : ‘Well, 
you parish bull prig, are you for lushing jackey, or patter 


268 


PELHAM; OR, 

ing in the hum box ! ’ * I ’ll be bound you would not 
know how to answer.” 

“ I am afraid you are right, Mr. Jonson,” said I, in a 
tone of self-humiliation. 

“Never mind,” replied the compassionate Job, “we 
art all born ignorant — knowledge is not learnt in a day. 
A few of the most common and necessary words in our 
St. Giles’s Greek, I shall be able to teach you before 
night ; and I will, beforehand, prepare the old lady for 
seeing a young hand in the profession. As I must dis- 
guise you before we go, and that cannot well be done 
here, suppose you dine with me at my lodgings.” 

“ I shall be too happy,” said I, not a little surprised at 
the offer. 

“I am in Charlotte street, Bloomsbury, No. — . You 
must ask for me by the name of Captain De Courcy,” 
said Job, with dignity : “ and we ’ll dine at five, in order 
to have time for your preliminary initiation.” 

“ With all ray heart,” said I ; and Mr. Job Jonson then 
rose, and, reminding me of my promise of secrecy, took 
his departure. 

* “Well, you parson thief, are you for drinking gin, or talking 
ui the nulnit ? ’* 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 269 


CHAPTER LXXXT 

Pectus preeceptis format amicis. — Hoe. 

Est quodam prodire teuus, si non datur ultra. — Ibid. 

With all my love of enterprise and adventure, I cannot 
say that I should have particularly chosen the project 
before me for my evening’s amusement, had I been left 
solely to my own will ; but Glanville’s situation forbade 
me to think of self : and, so far from shrinking at the 
danger to which T was about to be exposed, I looked for- 
ward with the utmost impatience to the hour of rejoining 
Jonson. 

There was yet a long time upon my hands before five 
o’clock ; and the thought of Ellen left me no doubt how 
it should be passed. I went to Berkeley-square : Lady 
Ghmville rose eagerly when I entered the drawing-room. 

“Have you seen Reginald?” said she, “or do you 
know where he has gone ? ” 

I answered, carelessly, that he had left town for a few 
days, and, I believe, merely upon a vague excursion, for 
the benefit of the country air. 

“You reassure us,” said Lady Glanville ; “we have 
been quite alarmed by Seymour’s manner. He appeared 
so confused when he told us Reginald had left town, that 
I really thought some accident had happened to him.” 

23 * 


270 


PELHAM; OR 

I sate myself by Ellen, who appeared wholly occupied 
in the formation of a purse. While I was whispering 
into her ear words which brought a thousand blushes to 
her cheek, Lady Glanville interrupted me, by an exclama- 
tion of “ have you seen the papers to-day, Mr. Pelham ? ” 
and on my reply in the negative, she pointed to an article 
in the Morning Herald, which she said had occupied their 
conjectures all the morning — it ran thus : — 

“ The evening before last, a person of rank and celeb- 

• ty was privately carried before the Magistrate at . 

Since then, he has undergone an examination, the nature 
of which, as well as the name of the individual, is as yet 
kept a profound secret.” 

I believe that I have so firm a command over my coun- 
tenance, that I should not change tint nor muscle, to hear 
of the greatest calamity that could happen to me. I did 
not therefore betray a single one of the emotions this 
paragraph excited within me, but appeared, on the con- 
trary, as much at a loss as Lady Glanville, and wondered 
and guessed with her, till she remembered my present 
situation in the family, and left me alone with Ellen. 

Why should the tete-d-tete of lovers be so uninteresting 
to the world, when there is scarcely a being in it who has 
not loved ? The expressions of every other feeling come 
home to us all — the expressions of love weary and fatigue 
ns. But the interview of that morning was far from re- 
sembling those delicious meetings wnich the history of 
love at that early period of its existence so often delineates. 
I could not give myself up to happiness which a momeni 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 271 

might destroy : and though I veiled my anxiety and cold 
ness from Ellen, I felt it as a crime to indulge even the 
appearance of transport, while G-lanville lay alone and in 
prison, with the charge of murder yet uncontroverted, and 
the chances of its doom undiminished. 

The clock had struck four before I left Ellen, and with- 
out returning to my hotel, I threw myself into a hackney- 
coach, and drove to Charlotte-street. The worthy Job 
received me with his wonted dignity and ease ; his lodg- 
ings consisted of a first floor, furnished according to all 
the notions of Bloomsbury elegance — viz., new, glaring 
Brussels carpeting ; convex mirrors, with massy gilt 
frames, and eagles at the summit; rosewood chairs, with 
chintz cushions ; bright grates, with a flower-pot, cut out 
of yellow paper, in each ; in short, all that especial neat- 
ness of upholstering paraphernalia, which Vincent used, 
not inaptly, to designate by the title of “the tea-chest 
taste.” Jonson seemed not a little proud of his apart- 
ments — accordingly, I complimented him upon their 
elegance. 

“ Under the rose be it spoken,” said he, “ the landlady, 
who is a widow, believes me to be an officer on half-pay, 
and thinks I wish to marry her ; poor woman ! my black 
1 -jcks and green coat have a witchery that surprises even 
me : who would be a slovenly thief, when there are such 
advantages in being a smart one ? 1 

“Right, Mr. Jonson ! ” said I; “but shall I own to 
you that I am surprised that a gentleman of your talents 
snouM stoop to the lower arts of the profession. I always 


272 


PELHAM ; OR, 


Imagined that pocket-picking was a part of your business 
left only to the plebeian purloiner ; now I know, to my 
cost, that you do not disdain that manual accomplish- 
ment.” 

“Your honor speaks like a judge,” answered Job; 
“'the fact is, that I should despise what you rightly de- 
signate ‘the lower arts of the profession , ’ if I did not 
value myself upon giving them a charm, and investing 
them with a dignity 7 , never bestowed upon them before. 
To give you an idea of the superior dexterity with which 
I manage my sleight of hand, know, that four times I 
have been in that shop where you saw me borrow the 
diamond ring, which you now remark upon my little 
finger ; and four times have I brought back some token 
of my visitations ; nay, the shopman is so far from sus- 
pecting me, that he has twice favored me with the piteous 
tale of the very losses I myself brought upon him ; and 
I make no doubt that I shall hear, in a few days, the 
whole history of the departed diamond, now in my keep- 
ing, coupled with that of your honor’s appearance and 
custom ! Allow that it would be a pity to suffer pride 
'o stand in the way of the talents with which Providence 
has blessed me ; to scorn the little delicacies of art, which 
I execute so well, would, in my opinion, be as absurd as 
f)r an epic poet to disdain the composition of a perfect 
epigram, or a consummate musician the melody of a fault- 
less song.” 

“Bravo 1 Mr. Job,” said I; “a truly great man, you 
see, can confer honor upon trifles.” More I might have 


I 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 273 

said, but was stopped short by the entrance of the land- 
lady, who was a fine, fair, well-dressed, comely woman, 
of about thirty-nine years and eleven months ; or, to speak 
less precisely, between thirty and forty. She came to 
announce that dinner was served below. We descended, 
and found a sumptuous repast of roast beef and fish ; this 
primary course was succeeded by that great dainty with 
common people — a duck and green peas. 

“Upon my word, Mr. Jonson,” said I, “you fare like 
a prince ; your weekly expenditure must be pretty con- 
siderable for a single gentleman. ” 

“I don’t know,” answered Jonson, with an air of lordly 
indifference — “I have never paid my good hostess any 
coin but compliments, and in all probability never shall.” 
Was there ever a better illustration of Moore’s admo- 
nition — 

‘ 0 ladies, beware of a gay young knight,’ &c. 

After dinner we remounted to the apartments Job em- 
phatically called his own ; and he then proceeded to ini- 
tiate me in those phrases of the noble language of 
“ Flash ” which might best serve my necessities on the 
approaching occasion. The slang part of my Cambridge 
education had made me acquainted with some little ele- 
mentary knowledge, which rendered Jonson’s precepts 
less strange and abstruse. In this lecture “ sweet and 
holy,” the hours passed away till it became time for me 
to dress.' Mr. Jonson then took me into the penetralia 
of his bed-room. I stumbled against an enormous trunk. 
On hearing the involuntary anathema which this accident 


274 


PELHAM; OR, 


conjured up to my lips, Jonson said — “Ah, sir ! — do ob- 
lige me by trying to move that box.” 

I did so, but could not stir it an inch. 

“Your honor never saw a jewel box so heavy before, I 
think,” said Jonson, with a smile. 

“A jewel box ! ” 

“Yes,” returned Jonson — “a jewel box, for it is full 
:f precious stones! When I go away — not a little in 
my good landlady’s books — I shall desire her, very im- 
portantly, to take the greatest care of ‘ my box . 1 Egad ! 
it would be a treasure to MacAdam ; he might pound its 
flinty contents into a street.” 

With these words, Mr. Jonson unlocked a wardrobe in 
the room, and produced a full suit of rusty black. 

“ There ! ” said he, with an air of satisfaction — “there ! 
this will be your first step to the pulpit.” 

I doffed my own attire, and with “some natural sighs” 
at the deformity of my approaching metamorphosis/ I 
slowly indued myself in the clerical garments ; they were 
much too wide, and a little too short for me ; but Jonson 
turned me round as if I were his eldest son, breeched for 
the first time, and declared, with an emphatical oath, that 
the clothes fitted me to a hair. 

My host next opened a tin dressing-box of large di- 
mensions, from which he took sundry powders, loti:ns, 
and paints. Nothing but my extreme friendship for Glan- 
ville could ever have supported me through the operation 
I then underwent. My poor complexion, thought I, with 
tears in my eyes, it is ruined forever ! To crown all — 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 275 

Jonson robbed me, by four clips of his scissors, of ths 
luxuriant locks which, from the pampered indulgence so 
long accorded to them, might have rebelled against the 
new dynasty which Jonson now elected to the crown. 
This dynasty consisted of a shaggy but admirably made 
wig, of a sandy color. When I was thus completely at- 
tired from head to foot, Job displayed me to myself be- 
fore a full-length looking-glass. 

Had I gazed at the reflection forever, I should not 
have recognized either my form or visage. I thought my 
soul had undergone a real transmigration, and not carried 
to its new body a particle of the original one. What 
appeared the most singular was, that I did not seem even 
to myself at all a ridiculous or outre figure ; so admirably 
had the skill of Mr. Jonson been employed. I over- 
whelmed him with encomiums, which he took au piea de 
la lettre. Never, indeed, was there a man so vain of being 
a rogue. 

“ But,” said I, “ why this disguise ? Your friends will, 
probably, be well versed enough in the mysteries of meta- 
morphosis, to see even through your arts ; and, as they 
have never beheld me before, it would very little matter 
if I went in propria persona.''’’ 

“True,” answered Job, “but you don’t reflect that 
without disguise you may hereafter be recognized ; our 
friends walk in Bond-street as well as your honor; and, 
in that case, you might be shot without a second, as the 
saying is.” 

“You have convinced me, said I ; “and now, before 


•m 


PELHAM; OR, 


S 



we start, let me say one word further respecting our 
object. I tell you, fairly, that I think Dawson’s written 
deposition but a secondary point : and for this reason, 
should it not be supported by any circumstantial or local 
evidence, hereafter to be ascertained, it may be quite in- 
sufficient fully to acquit Glanville (in spite of all appear- 
ances), and criminate the real murderers. If, therefore, 
it be possible to carry off Dawson, after having secured 
his confession, we must. I think it right to insist more 
particularly on this point, as you appeared to me rather 
averse to it this morning. ” 

“I say ditto to your honor, ” returned Job; “and you 
may be sure that I shall do all in my power to effect your 
object, not only from that love of virtue which is im- 
planted in my mind, when no stronger inducement leads 
me astray, but from the more worldly reminiscence, that 
the annuity we have agreed upon is only to be given in 
case of success — not merely for well-meaning attempts. 
To say that I have no objection to the release of Dawson, 
would be to deceive your honor, — I own that I have, — 
and the objection is, first, my fear lest he should peach 
respecting other affairs besides the murder of Sir John 
Tyrrell ; and, secondly, my scruples as to appearing to 
interfere with his escape. Both of these chances expose 
me to great danger ; however, one does not get three 
hundred a-year for washing one’s hands, and I must bal- 
ance the one against the other.” 

“You are a sensible man, Mr. Job,” said I, “and I at* 
sure you will richly earn and long enjoy your annuity.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 217 

As I said this, the watchman beneath our window caded 
“ past eleven ! ” and Jonson, starting up, hastily changed 
his own gay gear for a more simple dress, and throwing 
over all a Scotch plaid, gave me a similar one, in which 
I closely wrapped myself. We descended the stairs softly, 
and Jonson let us out into the street by the “open sesame” 
of a key which he retained about his person. 


CHAPTER LXXXII. 

Et cantare pares, et respondere parati. — Virgil. 

As we walked on into Tottenham-court-road, where we 
expected to find a hackney-coach, my companion earnestly 
and strenuously impressed on my mind the necessity of 
implicitly obeying any instructions or hints he might give 
me in the course of our adventure. “ Remember,” said 
he, forcibly, “ that the least deviation from them will not 
only defeat our object of removing Dawson, but even 
expose our lives to the most imminent peril.” I faith- 
fully promised to conform to the minutest tittle of his 
instructions. 

We came to a stand of coaches. Jonson selected one, 
and gave the coachman an order; he took care it should 
Dot reach my ears. During the half-hour we passed in 
this vehicle, Job examined and re-examined me in my 
‘canting catechism,” as he termed it. He expressed him 
II. — 24 


278 


PELHAM; OR, 


self muck pleased with the quickness of my parts, and 
honored me with an assurance that in less than three 
months he would engage to make me as complete a ruf- 
fler as ever nailed a swell. 

To this gratifying compliment I made the best return 
in my power. 

“You must not suppose,’’ said Jonson, some minutes 
afterwards, “from our use of this language, that our club 
consists of the lower order of thieves — quite the contrary ; 
we are a knot of gentlemen adventurers who wear the 
best clothes, ride the best hacks, frequent the best gaming- 
houses as well as the genteelest haunts, and sometimes 
keep the first company , in London. We are limited in 
number : we have nothing in common with ordinary prigs, 
and should my own little private amusements (as you ap- 
propriately term them) be known in the set, I should have 
a very fair chance of being expelled for un gentlemanlike 
practices. We rarely condescend to speak “flash” to 
each other in our ordinary meetings, but we find it neces- 
sary for many shifts to which fortune sometimes drives 
us. The house you are going this night to visit, is a sort 
of colony we have established for whatever persons 
amongst us are in danger of blood-money.* There they 
sometimes lie concealed for weeks together, and are at 
last shipped off for the continent, or enter the world 
under a new alias. To this refuge of the distressed we 
also send any of the mess who, like Dawson, are troubled 
with qualms of conscience -which are likely to endanger 


* Rewards for the apprehension of thieves, &c 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 2^3 

the commonwealth : there they remain, as in a hospital, 
till death or a cure ; in short, we put the house, like its 
inmates, to any purposes likely to frustrate our enemies 
and serve ourselves. Old Brimstone Bess, to whom I 
shall introduce you, is, as I before said, the guardian of 
the place ; and the language that respectable lady chiefly 
indulges in, is the one into which you have just acquired 
so- good an insight. Partly in compliment to her, and 
partly from inclination, the dialect adopted in her house 
is almost entirely ‘ flash ! ’ and you, therefore, perceive 
the necessity of appearing not utterly ignorant of a ton- 
gue which is not only the language of the country, but 
one with which no true boy, however high in his profes- 
sion, is ever unacquainted.” 

By the time Jonson had finished this speech, the coach 
stopped — I looked eagerly out of the window — Jonson 
observed the motion: “We have not got half-way yet, 
your honor,” said he. We left the coach, which Jonson 
requested me to pay, and walked on. 

“Tell me frankly, sir,” said Job, “do you know where 
you are ? ” 

“Not in the least,” replied I, looking wistfully up a 
long, dull, ill-lighted street. 

Job rolled his sinister eye towards me with a searching 
look, and then turning abruptly to the right, penetrated 
into a sort of covered lane, or court, which terminated in 
an alley, that brought us suddenly to a stand of three 
coaches ; one of these Job hailed — we entered it — a se- 
cret direction was given, and we drove furiously on, faster 

2q 


280 


PELHAM; OR, 


than I snould think the crazy body of hackney chariot 
ever drove before. I observed that we had now entered 
a part of the town which was singularly strange to me ; 
the houses were old, and for the most part of the mean- 
est description ; we appeared to me to be threading a 
labyrinth of alleys ; once, I imagined that I caught, 
through a sudden opening, a glimpse of the river, but we 
passed so rapidly, that my eye might have deceived me. 
At length we stopped : the coachman was again dis- 
missed, and I again walked onwards, under the guidance 
and almost at the mercy of my honest companion. 

4 

Jonson did not address me — he was silent and absorbed, 
and I had therefore full leisure to consider my present 
situation. Though (thanks to my physical constitution) 
I am as callous to fear as most men, a few chilling ap- 
prehensions certainly flitted across my mind, when I looked 
round at the dim and dreary sheds — houses they were not 
• — which were on either side of our path ; only, here and 
there, a single lamp shed a sickly light upon the dismal 
and intersecting lanes (though lane is too lofty a word), 
through which our footsteps woke a solitary sound. 
Sometimes this feeble light was altogether withheld, and 
I could scarcely catch even the outline of my companion’s 
muscular frame. However, he strode on through the 
darkness with the mechanical rapidity of one to whom 
every stone is familiar. I listened eagerly for the sound 
of the watchman’s voice ; — in vain — that note was never 
heard in those desolate recesses. My ear drank in noth- 
ing but the sound of our own footsteps, or the occasional 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 281 

burst of obscene and unholy merriment from some half- 
closed hovel, where Infamy and Vice were holding reveis. 
Now and then, a wretched thing, in the vilest extreme of 
want, and loathsomeness, and rags, loitered by the unfre- 
queit lamps, and interrupted our progress with solicita- 
tions which made my blood run cold. By degrees even 
these tokens of life ceased — the last lamp was entirely 
shut from our view — we were in utter darkness. 

“We are near our journey’s end now,” whispered 
Jonson. 

At these words a thousand unwelcome reflections 
forced themselves involuntarily on my mind : I was about 
to plunge into the most secret retreat of men whom long 
habits of villany and desperate abandonment had hard- 
ened into a nature which had scarcely a sympathy with 
my own ; unarmed and defenceless, I was about to pene- 
trate a concealment upon which their lives perhaps de- 
pended ; what could I anticipate from their vengeance, 
but the sure hand and the deadly knife, which their self- 
preservation would more than justify to such lawless 
reasoners ? And who was my companion ? One who 
literally gloried in the perfection of his nefarious prac- 
tices ; and who, if he had stopped short of the worst 
enormities, seemed neither to disown the principle upon 
which they were committed, nor to balance for a moment 
between his interest and his conscience. 

Nor did he attempt to conceal from me the danger to 

which I was exposed ; much as his daring habits of life, 

And the good fortune which had attended him, must havo 
24* 


282 


PELHAM; OR, 


hardened his nerves, even he seemed fully sensible of the 
peril he incurred — a peril certainly considerably less than 
that which attended my temerity. Bitterly did I repent, 
as these reflections rapidly passed my mind, my negligence 
in not providing myself with a single weapon in case of 
need ; the worst pang of death is the falling without a 
struggle. 

However, it was no moment for the indulgence of fear ; 
it was rather one of those eventful periods which so rarely 
occur in the monotony of common life, when our minds 
are sounded to their utmost depths : and energies, of 
which we dreamt not when at rest in their secret retreats, 
arise like spirits at the summons of the wizard, and bring 
to the invoking mind an unlooked-for and preternatural 
aid. 

There was something too in the disposition of my guide, 
which gave me a confidence in him, not warranted by the 
occupations of his life ; an easy and frank boldness, an 
ingenuous vanity of abilities, skilfully, though dishonestly 
exerted, which had nothing of the meanness and mystery 
of an ordinary villain, and which being equally prominent 
with the rascality they adorned, prevented the attention 
from dwelling upon the darker shades of his character. 
Besides, I had so closely entwined his interest with my 
own, that I felt there could be no possible ground either 
for suspecting him of any deceit towards me, or of omit- 
ting any art or exertion which could conduce to our mutual 
safety or our common end. 

Forcing myself to dwell solely upon the more encour- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 2S3 

aging side of the enterprise I had undertaken, I continued 
to move on with my worthy comrade, silent and in dark- 
ness, for some minutes longer — Jonson then halted. 

“Are you quite prepared, sir ? ” said he, in a whisper : 
“if your heart fails, in Heaven’s name let us turn back: 
the least evident terror will be as much as your life is 
worth.” 

My thoughts were upon Reginald and Ellen, as I re- 
plied — 

“You have told and convinced me that I may trust in 
you, and I have no fears ; my present object is one as 
strong to me as life.” 

“ I would we had a glim ,” rejoined Job, musingly ; “I 
should like to see your face ; but will you give me youi 
hand, sir ? ” 

I did, and Jonson held it in his own for more than a 
minute. 

“’Fore Gad, sir,” said he at last, “I would you were 
one of us. You would live a brave man, and die a game 
one. Your pulse is like iron; and your hand does not 
sway — no — not so much as to wave a dove’s feather: it 
would be a burning shame if harm came to so stout a 
heart.” Job moved on a few steps. “Now, sir,” he 
whispered, “ remember your flash ; do exactly as I may 
- have occasion to tell you ; and be sure to sit away from 
the light, should we be in company.” 

With these words he stopped. By the touch (for it was 
too dark to see,) I felt that he was bending down, appar- 
ently in a listening attitude ; presently he tapped five times 


284 


PELHAM; OR, 


at what I supposed was the door, though I afterwards 
discovered it was the shutter to a window ; upon this, a 
faint light broke through the crevices of the boards, and 
a low voice uttered some sound, which my ear did not 
catch. Job replied in the same key, and in words which 
were perfectly unintelligible to me ; the light disappeared ; 
Job moved round, as if turning a corner. I heard the 
heavy bolts and bars of a door slowly withdrawn ; and 
in a few moments, a harsh voice said, in the thieves’ dia- 
lect — 

“ Ruffling Job, my prince of prigs, is that you ? are you 
come to the ken alone, or do you carry double ? ” 

“Ah, Bess, my covess, strike me blind if my sees don’t 
tout your bingo muns in spite of the darkmans. Egad, 
you carry a bene blink aloft. Come to the ken alone — 
no ! my blowen ; did not I tell you I should bring a pater 
cove, to chop up the whiners for Dawson ?”* 

“ Stubble it, you ben, you deserve to cly the jerk for 
your patter; come in, and be d — d to you.”j* 

Upon this invitation, Jonson, seizing me by the arm, 
pushed me into the house, and followed. “ Go for a glim, 
Bess, to light in the black ’un with proper respect. I ’ll 
close the gig of the crib.” 

At this order, delivered in an authoritative tone, the 

* “Strike me blind if my eyes don’t see your brandy face in 
r?ite of the night. Come to the house alone — no! my woman ; 
r'id not I tell you I should bring a parson — to say prayers for 
>»awson ? ” 

j- “ Hold your tongue, fool, you deserve to be whipped for your * 
chatter.” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


285 


old woman, mumbling “strange oaths” to herself, moved 
away; when she was out of hearing, Job whispered, 

“ Mark, I shall leave the bolts undrawn ; the door opens 
with a latch, which you press thus — do not forget the 
spring ; it is easy, but peculiar ; should you be forced to 
run for it, you will also remember, above all, when you 
are out of the door, to turn to the right, and go straight 
forwards.” 

The old woman now reappeared with a light, and 
Jonson ceased, and moved hastily towards her : I followed. 
The old woman asked whether the door had been carefully 
closed, and Jonson, with an oath at her doubts of such a 
matter, answered in the affirmative. 

We proceeded onwards, through a long and very nar- 
row passage, till Bess opened a small door to the right, 
and introduced us into a large room, which, to my great 
dismay, I found already occupied by four men, who were 
sitting, half immersed in smoke, by an oak table, with a 
capacious bowl of hot liquor before them. At the back- 
ground of this room, which resembled the kitchen of a 
public-house, was an enormous skreen, of antique fashion ; 
a low fire burnt sullenly in the grate, and beside it was 
one of those high-backed chairs seen frequently in old 
houses and old pictures. A clock stood in one corner, 
and in the opposite nook was a flight of narrow stairs, 
which led downwards, probably to a cellar. On a row 
of shelves were various bottles of the different liquors 
generally in request among the “flash” gentry, together 
with an old-fashioned fiddle, two bridles, and some strange 


/ 


286 PELHAM; OR, 

looking tools, probably of more use to true boys than to 
honest men. 

Brimstone Bess was a woman about the middle size, 
but with bones and sinews which would not have dis- 
graced a prize-fighter ; a cap, that might have been cleaner, 
was rather thrown than put on the back of her head, 
developing, to full advantage, the few scanty locks of 
grizzled ebon which adorned her countenance. Her eyes, 
large, black, and prominent, sparkled with a fire half 
vivacious, half vixen. The nasal feature was broad and 
fungous, and, as well as the whole of her capacious 
physiognomy, blushed with the deepest scarlet : it was 
evident to see that many a full bottle of “ British com- 
pounds” had contributed to the feeding of that burning 
and phosphoric illumination, which was indeed, “ the 
outward and visible sign of an inward and sjnritual 
grace. ” 

The expression of the countenance was not wholly bad. 
Amidst the deep traces of searing vice and unrestrained 
passion — amidst all that was bold and unfeminine, and 
fierce and crafty, there was a latent look of coarse good- 
humor, a twinkle of the eye that bespoke a tendency to 
mirth and drollery, and an upward curve of the lip that 
showed, however the human creature might be debased, 
it still cherished its grand characteristic — the propensity 
to laughter. 

The garb of this Dame Leonarda was by no means of 
that humble nature which one might have supposed. A 
gown of crimson silk, flounced and furbelowed to the 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 287 

knees, was tastefully relieved by a bright yellow shawl ; 
and a pair of heavy pendants glittered in her ears, which 
were of the size proper to receive “ the big words ” they 
were in the habit of hearing. Probably this finery had 
its origin in the policy of her guests, who had seen enough 
of life to know that age, which tames all other passions, 
never tames the passiou of dress in a woman’s heart. 

N»; sooner did the four revellers set their eyes upon me 
than tliev all rose. 

“ Zounds, Bess!” cried the tallest of them, “what 
cull ’s this ? Is this a bowsing ken for every cove to shove 
his trunk in ? ” 

“What ho, my kiddy ? ” cried Job, “ do n’t be glim- 
flashy : why you ’d cry beef on a blater ; * the cove is a 
bob cull, and a pal of my own ; and moreover, is as pretty 
a Tyburn blossom as ever was brought up to ride a horse 
foaled by an acorn.” 

Upon this commendatory introduction I was forthwith 
surrounded, and one of the four proposed that I should 
be immediately “elected.” 

This motion, which was probably no gratifying cere- 
mony, Job negatived with a dictatorial air, and reminded 
his comrades that however they might find it convenient 
to lower themselves occasionally, yet that they were gen- 
tlemen sharpers, and not vulgar cracksmen and clyfakers, 
and that, therefore, they ought to welcome me with the 
good breeding appropriate to their station. 

* “ Do n’t be angry ! Why you ’d cry beef on a calf — the man 
is a good fellow, and a comrade of my own,” &c. 


288 


PELHAM; OR, 


TJpon this hint, which was received with mingled 
laughter and deference, (for Job seemed to be a man of 
might among these Philistines,) the tallest of the set, who 
bore the euphonious appellation of Spider-shanks, politely 
asked me if I would “blow a cloud with him ! ” and upon 
my assent, (for I thought such an occupation would be 
the best excuse for silence,) he presented me with a pipe 
of tobacco, to which Dame Brimstone applied a light, and 
I soon lent my best endeavors to darken still farther the 
atmosphere around us. 

Mr. Job Jonson then began artfully to turn the con- 
versation away from me to the elder confederates of his 
crew ; these were all spoken of under certain singular 
appellations which might well baffle impertinent curiosity. 
The name of one was “ the Gimlet,” another “ Crack 
Crib,” a third, “ the Magician,” a fourth, “ Cherry-colored 
Jowl.” The tallest of the present company was called 
(as I before said) “Spider-shanks,” and the shortest, 
“ Fib Faktscrew ; ” Job himself was honored by the 
venerabile ,iomen of “ Guinea Pig.” At last Job ex- 
plained the cause of my appearance; viz., his wish to 
pacify Dawson’s conscience by dressing up one of the 
pals, whom the sinner could not recognize, as an “ autem 
bawler,” and so obtaining him the benefit of the clergy 
without endangering the gang by his confession. This 
detail was received with great good humor, and Job, 
watching his opportunity, soon after rose, and, turning 
to me, said — 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 289 

“ Toddle, my bob cull — we must track up the dancers 
and tout the sinner.”* 

I wanted no other hint to leave my present situation. 

“ The ruffian cly thee, Guinea Pig, for stashing the 
lush,”^ said Spider-shanks, helping himself out of the 
bowl, which was nearly empty. 

“Stash the lushP’J cried Mrs. Brimstone, “ay, and 
toddle off to Ruggins. Why, you would not be boosing 
till lightman’s in a square crib like mine, as if you were 
in a flash panny ! ” 

“ That ’s bang up, mort ! ” cried Fib. “A square crib, 
indeed ! ay, square as Mr. Newman’s court-yard — ding- 
boys on three sides, and the crap on the fourth ! ”§ 

This characteristic witticism was received with great 
applause ; and Jonson, taking a candlestick from the fair 
fingers of the exasperated Mrs. Brimstone, the hand thus 
conveniently released immediately transferred itself to 
Fib’s cheeks, with so hearty a concussion that it almost 
brought the rash jester to the ground. Jonson and I lost 
not a moment in taking advantage of the confusion this 
gentle remonstrance appeared to occasion ; but instantly 
left the room and closed the door. 

* “ Move, my good fellow, we must go up stairs, and look at the 
sinner.” 

j- “ The devil take thee, for stopping the drink.” 

J “ Stop the drink, ay, and be off to bed. You would not be 
drinking till day — in an honest house like mine, as if you were in 
a disreputable place ! ” 

g “ That ’s capital. A square crib (honest house) ! Ay, square 
as Newgate coach-yard — rogues on three sides, and the gallows on 
the fourth.” 

II. —25 


290 


PELHAM; OR, 


CHAPTER LXXXIII. 

% 

’Tis true that we are in great danger ; 

The greater, therefore, should our courage be. 

Shakspearb. 

We proceeded a short way, when we were stopped 
by a door; this Job opened, and a narrow staircase, 
lighted from above by a dim lamp, was before us. We 
ascended, and found ourselves in a sort of gallery : here 
hung another lamp, beneath which Job opened a closet. 

“ This is the place where Bess generally leaves the 
keys,” said he ; “ we shall find them here, I hope.” 

So saying, Master Job entered, leaving me in the pas- 
sage ; but soon returned with a disappointed air. 

“The old haridan has left them below,” said he; “I 
must go down for them ; your honor will wait here till ] 
return.” 

Suiting the action to the word, honest Job immediately 
descended, leaving me alone with my own reflections. 
Just opposite to the closet was the door of some apart- 
ment ; I leant accidentally against it; it was only ajar, 
and gave way ; the ordinary consequence in such acci- 
dents is a certain precipitation from the centre of gravity. 
I am not exempt from the general lot, and accordingly 
entered the room in a manner entii ely contrary to that 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 291 

which my natural inclination would have prompted me to 
adopt. My ear was accosted by a faint voice, which pro- 
ceeded from a bed at the opposite corner : it asked, in 
the thieves’ dialect, and in the feeble accents of bodily 
weakness, who was there ? I did not judge it necessary 
to make any reply, but was withdrawing as gently as pos- 
sible, when my eye rested upon a table at the foot of the 
bed, upon which, among two or three miscellaneous arti- 
cles, were deposited a brace of pistols, and one of those 
admirable swords, made according to the modern military 
regulation, for the united purpose of cut and thrust. The 
light which enabled me to discover the contents of the 
room, proceeded from a rush-light placed in the grate ; 
this general symptom of a valetudinarian, together with 
some other little odd matters (combined with the weak 
voice of the speaker), impressed me with the idea of 
having intruded into the chamber of some sick member 
of the crew. Emboldened by this notion, and by per- 
ceiving that the curtains were drawn closely around the 
bed, so that the inmate could have optical discernment 
of nothing that occurred without, I could not resist taking 
two soft steps to the table, and quietly removing a weapon, 
whose bright face seemed to invite me as a long-known 
and long-tried friend. 

This was not, however, done in so noiseless a manner, 
but what the voice again addressed me, in a somewhat 
louder key, by the appellation of “ Brimstone Bess,” ask- 
ing, with sundry oaths, “ what was the matter ?” and re- 
questing something to drink. I need scarcely say that, 


‘292 


PELHAM; OR, 


as before, I made no reply, but crept out of the room as 
gently as possible, blessing my good fortune for having 
thrown into my way a weapon with the use of which, 
above all others, I was acquainted. Scarcely had I re- 
gained the passage, before Jonson reappeared with the 
keys; I showed him my treasure (for indeed it was of no 
size to conceal). 

'Are you mad, sir ? ” said he, “ or do you think that 
the best way to avoid suspicion is to walk about with a 
drawn sword in your hand ? I would not have Bess see 
you for the best diamond I ever borrowed” With these 
words Job took the sword from my reluctant hand. 

“Where did you get it ?” said he. 

I explained in a whisper, and Job, reopening the door 
I had so unceremoniously entered, laid the weapon softly 
on a chair that stood within reach. The sick man, whose 
senses were of course rendered doubly acute by illness, 
once more demanded, in a fretful tone, who was there ! 
And Job replied, in the flash language, that Bess had 
sent him up to look for her keys, which she imagined she 
had left there. The invalid rejoined by a request to Jon- 
son to reach him a draught, and we had to undergo a 
farther delay until his petition was complied with ; we 
then proceeded up the passage till we came to another 
flight of steps, which led to a door; Job opened it, and 
tve entered a room of no common dimensions. 

“This,” said he, “is Bess Brimstone’s sleeping apart- 
ment ; whoever goes into the passage that leads not only 
to Dawson’s room but to the several other chambers oc- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 293 

cupied by such of the gang as require particular care , 
must pass first through this room. You see that bell by 
the bedside — I assure you it is no ordinary tintinnabu- 
lum ; it communicates with every sleeping apartment in 
the house, and is only rung in cases of great alarm, when 
every boy must look well to himself ; there are two more 
of this description, one in the room which we have just 
left, another in the one occupied by Spider-shanks, who 
is our watch-dog, and keeps his kennel below. Those 
steps in the common room, which seem to lead to a cel- 
lar, conduct to his den. As we shall have to come back 
through this room, you see the difficulty of smuggling 
Dawson — and if the old dame rung the alarm, the whole 
hive would be out in a moment.” 

After this speech, Job led me from the room by a door 
at the opposite end, which showed us a passage similar 
in extent and fashion to the one we had left below ; at 
the very extremity of this was the entrance to an apart- 
ment, at which Jonson stopped. 

“ Here,” said he, taking from his pocket a small paper 
book and an ink-horn ; “ here, your honor, take these, 
you may want to note the heads of Dawson’s confession ; 
we are now at his door.” Job then applied one of the 
keys of a tolerably sized bunch to the door, and the next 
moment we were in Dawson’s apartment. 

The room, which, though low and narrow, was of con- 
siderable length, was in utter darkness, and the dim and 
flickering light which Jonson held only struggled with, 
rather than penetrated the thick gloom. About the cen- 
25 * 


294 


PELHAM; OR, 

tre of the room stood the bed, and sitting upright on it, 
with a wan and hollow countenance, bent eagerly towards 
us, was a meagre, attenuated figure. My recollection of 
Dawson, whom, it will be remembered, I had only seen 
once before, was extremely faint, but it had impressed me 
with the idea of a middle-sized and rather athletic man, 
with a fair and florid complexion : the creature I now 
saw was totally the reverse of this idea. His cheeks 
were yellow and drawn in : his hand, which was raised in 
the act of holding aside the curtains, was like the talons 
of a famished vulture, so thin was it, so long, so withered 
in its hue and texture. 

No sooner did the advancing light allow him to see us 
distinctly, than he half sprung from the bed, and cried, 
in that peculiar tone of joy which seems to throw off 
from the breast a suffocating weight of previous terror 
and suspense, “ Thank God, thank God ! it is you at 
last; and you have brought the clergyman — God bless 
you, Jonson ; you are a true friend to me.” 

“ Cheer up, Dawson,” said Job ; “ I have smuggled 
in this worthy gentleman, who, I have no doubt, will be 
of great comfort to you — but you must be open with him, 
and tell all.” 

“ That I will — that I will,” cried Dawson, with a wild 
and vindictive expression of countenance — “if it be only 
to h^®g him. Here, Jonson, give me your hand, bring 
the l^ht nearer — I say, — he , the devil — the fiend — has 
oeei here to-day and threatened to murder me ; and I 
)htened, and listened, all night, and thought I heard 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 295 

his step along the passage, and up the stairs, and at the 
door; but it was nothing, Job, nothing — and you are 
come at last, good, kind, worthy Job. Oh ! ’tis so hor- 
rible to be left in the dark, and not sleep — and in this 
large, large room, which looks like eternity at night — - 
and one does fancy such sights, Job — such horrid, horrid 
sights. Feel my wristband, Jonson, and here at my back, 
you would think they had been pouring water over me, 
but it’s only the cold sweat. Oh! ’tis a fearful thing to 
have a bad conscience, Job ; but you won’t leave me till 
daylight, now, that’s a dear, good Job ! ” 

“For shame, Dawson,” said Jonson; “pluck up, and 
be a man ; you are like a baby frightened by its nurse. 
Here ’s the clergyman come to heal your poor wounded 

conscience: will vou hear him nowV } 

/ •/ 

“Yes,” said Dawson, “yes! — but go out of the room 
— I can’t tell all if you’re here; go, Job, go! — but 
you’re not angry with me? — I don’t mean to offend 
vou.” 

“Angry!” said Job; “Lord help the poor fellow! no, 
to be sure not. I’ll stay outside the door till you’ve 
done with the clergyman — but make haste, for the night’s 
almost over, and it ’s as much as the parson’s life is worth 
to stay here after daybreak.” 

“ I will make haste,” said the guilty man, tremulously; 
“but Job, where are you going — what are you doing? 
leave the light! here, Job, by the bedside.” 

Job did as he was desired, and quitted the room, leav- 
ing the door not so firmly shut but that he might hear, 

2r 


29G PELHAM; OR, 

if the penitent spoke aloud, every particular of his con* 
fession. 

I seated myself on the side of the bed, and taking the 
skeleton hand of the unhappy man, spoke to him in the 
most consolatory and comforting words I could summon 
to my assistance. He seemed greatly soothed by my 
efforts, and at last implored me to let him join me in 
prayer I knelt down, and my lips readily found words 
for that language, which, whatever be the formula of our 
faith, seems, in all emotions which come home to our 
hearts, the most natural method of expressing them. It 
is here, by the bed of sickness or remorse, that the min- 
isters of God have their real power ! it is here that their 
office is indeed a divine and unearthly mission ; and that, 
in breathing balm and comfort, in healing the broken 
heart, in raising the crushed and degraded spirit, they 
are the voice and oracle of the FATHER, who made us 
in benevolence, and will judge us in mercy! I rose, and 
after a short pause, Dawson, who expressed himself im 
patient for the comfort of confession, thus began — 

“ I have no time, sir, to speak of the earlier part of my 
life. I passed it upon the race-course and at the gaming- 
table — all that was, I know, very wrong and wicked ; but 
T was a wild, idle boy, and eager for anything like enter*' 
prise or mischief. Well, sir, it is now more than three 
years ago since I first met with one Tom Thornton , it 
was at a boxing match. Tom was chosen chairman, at a 
sort of club of the farmers and yeomen ; and being a 
lively, amusing fellow, and accustomed to the company 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 291 

of gentlemen, was a great favorite with all of us. He 
was very civil to me, and I was quite pleased with his 
notice. I did not, however, see much of him then, nor 
for more than two years afterwards ; but some months 
ago we met again. I was in very poor circumstances, so 
was he, and this made us closer friends than we might 
otherwise have been. He lived a great deal at the gambling- 
houses, and fancied he had discovered a certain method 
of winning* at hazard. So, whenever he could not find 
a gentleman whom he could cheat with false dice, tricks 
at cards, &c., he would go into any hell to try his infalli- 
ble game. I did not, however, perceive that he made a 
good living by it : and though sometimes, either by that 
method or some other, he had large sums of money in his 
possession, yet they were spent as soon as acquired. The 
fact was, that he was not a man that could ever grow 
rich ; he was extremely extravagant in all things — loved 
women and drinking, and was always striving to get into 
the society of people above him. In order to do this, he 
affected great carelessness of money; and if, at a race or 
a cock-fight, any real gentlemen would go home with him, 
he would insist upon treating them to the best of every- 
thing. 

** Thus, sir, he was always poor, and at his wits’ end 
for means to supply his extravagance. He introduced 
me to three or four gentlemen , as he called them, but 
whom I have since found to be markers, sharpers, and 
blacklegs ; and this set soon dissipated the little honesty 


* A very common delusion, both among sharpers and their prey. 


2 1)8 


PELHAM; OR, 


my own habits :>f life had left me. They never spoke of 
things by their right names; and, therefore, those things 
never seemed so bad as they really were — to swindle a 
gentleman did not sound a crime when it was called 
‘ macing a swell,’ — nor transportation a punishment, when 
it was termed, with a laugh, ‘lagging a cove.’ Thus, in- 
sensibly, my ideas of right and wrong, always obscure, 
became perfectly confused ; and the habit of treating all 
crimes as subjects of jest in familiar conversation, soon 
made me regard them as matters of very trifling import- 
ance. 

“Well, sir, at Newmarket races, this Spring meeting, 
Thornton and I were on the look out. He had come 
down to stay, during the races, at a house I had just in- 
herited from my father, but which was rather an expense 
to me than an advantage; especially as my wife, who was 
an innkeeper’s daughter, was very careless and extrava- 
gant. It so happened that we were both taken in by a 
jockey, whom we had bribed very largely, and were losers 
to a very considerable amount. Among other people, I 
lost to a Sir John Tyrrell. I expressed my vexation to 
Thornton, who told me not to mind it, but to tell Sir 
John that I would pay him if he came to the town ; and 
that he was quite sure we could win enough, by his cer- 
tain game at hazard, to pay off my debt. He was so 
very urgent, that I allowed myself to be persuaded ; 
though Thornton has since told me that his only motive 
was to prevent Sir John’s going to the Marquess of 
Chester’s (where he was invited) with my lord’s party; 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 299 

and so to have an opportunity of accomplishing the crime 
he then meditated. 

“Accordingly, as Thornton desired, I asked Sir John 
Tyrrell to come with me to Newmarket He did so. I 
left him, joined Thornton, and went to the gambling- 
house. Here we were engaged in Thornton’s sure game, 
when Sir John entered. I went up and apologized for 
not paying, and said I would pay him in three months. 
II owever, Sir John was very angry, and treated me with 
such rudeness, that the whole table remarked it. When 
he was gone, I told Thornton how hurt and indignant I 
was at Sir John’s treatment. He incensed me still more 
— exaggerated Sir John’s conduct — said that I had suf- 
fered the grossest insult ; and at last put me into such a 
passion, that I said that if I w T as a gentleman, I would 
fight Sir John Tyrrell ^across the table. 

“When Thornton saw I was so moved, he took me out 
of the room, and carried me to an inn. Here he ordered 
dinner, and several bottles of wine. I never could bear 
much drink : he knew this, and artfully plied me with 
wine till I scarcely knew what I did or said. He then 
talked much of our destitute situation — affected to put 
himself out of the question — said he was a single man, 
and could easily make shift upon a potato — but tha.t I 
was encumbered with a wife and child, whom I could not 
suffer to starve. He then said, that Sir John Tyrrell had 
publicly disgraced me — that I should be blown upon the 
course — thai no gentleman would bet with me again, and 
a great deal more Of the same sort. Seeing what an effect 


300 


PELHAM; OR, 


he had produced upon me, he then told me that he had 
seen Sir John receive a large sum of money, which would 
more than pay our debts, and set us up like gentlemen, 
and, at last, he proposed to me to rob him. Intoxicated 
as I was, I was somewhat startled at this proposition. 
However, the slang terms in which Thornton disguised 
the greatness and danger of the offence, very much dimin- 
ished both in my eyes — so at length I consented. 

“We went to Sir John’s inn, and learnt that he had 
just set out: accordingly we mounted our horses and 
rode after him. The night had already closed in. After 
we had got some distance from the main road, into a lane, 
which led both to my house and to Chester Park — for the 
former was on the direct way to my lord’s — we passed a 
man on horseback. I only observed that he was wrapped 
in a cloak — but Thornton said, directly we had passed 
him, ‘ I know that man well — he has been following Tvr- 
rell all day — and though he attempts to screen himself, I 
have penetrated his disguise: — he is Tyrrell’s mortal 
enemy.’ 

“ ‘ Should the worst come to the worst,’ added Thorn- 
ton (words which I did not at that moment understand), 

‘ w r e can make him bear the blame.’ 

“When we got some way further, we came up to Tyr- 
rell and a gentleman whom, to our great dismay, we found 
that Sir John had joined — the gentleman’s horse had met 
with an accident, and Thornton dismounted to offer his 
assistance. He assured the gentleman, who proved after- 
wards to be a Mr Pelham, that the horse was quite lame 


ADVENTURES OP A GENTLEMAN. 301 

and that he would scarcely be able to get it home ; and 
he then proposed to Sir John to accompany us, and said 
that we would put him in the right road ; this offer Sir 
John rejected very haughtily, and we rode on. 

“‘It’s all up with us,” said I; ‘since he has joined 
another person.’ 

“‘Not at all,’ replied Thornton; ‘fori managed to 
give the horse a sly poke with my knife ; and if I know 
anything of Sir John Tyrrell, he is much too impatient a 
spark to crawl along a snail’s pace with any companion, 
especially with this heavy shower coming on.’ 

“ ‘But,’ said I, for I now began to recover from my 
intoxication, and to be sensible of the nature of our un- 
dertaking, ‘the moon is up, and unless this shower con- 
ceals it, Sir John will recognize us ; so you see, even if 
he leave the gentleman, it will be no use, and we had 
better make haste home and go to bed.’ 

“Upon this, Thornton cursed me for a faint-hearted 
fellow, and said that the cloud would effectually hide the 
moon — or, if not — he added — ‘I know how to silence a 
prating tongue.’ At these words I was greatly alarmed, 
and said, that if he meditated murder as well as robbery, 
I would have nothing farther to do with it. Thornton 
laughed, and told me not to be a fool. While we were 
thus debating, a heavy shower came on ; we rode hastily 
to a large tree by the side of a pond, which, though Dare 
and withered, was the nearest shelter the country afforded, 
and was only a very short distance from my house. I 
wished to go home, but Thornton would not let me ; and 
II. — 26 


302 


PELHAM; OR, 


as I was always in the habit of yielding, I remained with 
him, though very reluctantly, under the tree. 

“ Presently, we heard the trampling of a horse. 

“‘It is he — it is he,’ cried Thornton, with a savage 
tone of exultation, ‘and alone! — Be ready — we must 
make a rush — I will be the one to bid him to deliver — 
you hold your tongue.’ 

“ The clouds and rain had so overcast the night, that, 
although it was not perfectly dark , it was sufficiently 
obscure to screen our countenances. Just as Tyrrell 
approached Thornton dashed forward, and cried, in a 
feigned voice — ‘Stand, on your peril !’ I followed, and 
we were now both by Sir John’s side. 

“He attempted to push by us — but Thornton seized 
him by the arm — there was a stout struggle, in which as 
yet I had no share; at last, Tyrrell got loose from Thorn 
ton, and I seized him — he set spurs to his horse, which 
was a very spirited and strong animal — it reared upwards 
and very nearly brought me and my horse to the ground 
■ — at that instant, Thornton struck the unfortunate man a 
violent blow across the head with the butt-end of his 
heavy whip — Sir John’s hat had fallen before in the 
struggle, and the blow was so stunning that it felled him 
upon the spot. Thornton dismounted, and made me d ) 
the same — ‘There is no time to lose,’ said he; ‘let us 
drag him from the roadside, and rifle him.’ We accord- 
ingly carried him (he was still senseless) to the side of 
the pond before mentioned. While we were searching 
for the money Thornton spoke of, the storm ceased and 


ADVENTURES OE A GENTLEMAN. 303 

the moon broke out — we were detained some moments 
by the accident of Tyrrell’s having transferred his pocket- 
book from the pocket Thornton had seen him put it in 
on the race-ground to an inner one. 

“We had just discovered and seized the pocket-book, 
when Sir John awoke from his swoon, and his eyes opened 
upon Thornton, who was still bending over him, and look- 
ing at the contents of the book to see that all was right ; 
the moonlight left Tyrrell in no doubt as to our persons ; 
and struggling hard to get up, he cried, ‘ 1 know you ! I 
know you ! you shall hang for this.’ No sooner had he 
uttered this imprudence, than it was all over with him. 
‘We will see that, Sir John,’ said Thornton, setting his 
knee upon Tyrrell’s chest, and nailing him down. While 
thus employed, he told me to feel in his coat-pocket for a 
case-knife. 

“‘For God’s sake,’ cried Tyrrell, with a tone of ago- 
nizing terror which haunts me still, ‘ spare my life ! ’ 

“ ‘ It is too late,’ said Thornton, deliberately, and tak- 
ing the knife from my hands, he plunged it into Sir John’s 
side, and as the blade was too short to reach the vitals, 
Thornton drew it backwards and forwards to widen the 
wound. Tyrrell was a strong man, and still continued to 
struggle and call out for mercy — Thornton drew out the 
knife — Tyrrell seized it by the blade, and his fingers were 
cut through before Thornton could snatch it from his 
grasp ; the wretched gentleman then saw all hope was 
^ver : he uttered one loud, sharp cry of despair. Thorn- 


S04 


PELIIAM; OR, 


ton put one hand to his mouth, and with the other gashed 
his throat from ear to ear 

“ ‘ You have done for him and for vs now/ said I, as 
Thornton slowly rose from the body. ‘No,’ replied he, 
‘look, he still moves ; ’ and sure enough he did, but it was ' 
in the last agony. However, Thornton, to make all sure, 
plunged the knife again into his body : the blade came in 
contact with a bone, and snapped in two : so great was 
the violence of the blow, that, instead of remaining in the 
flesh, the broken piece fell upon the ground among the 
long fern and grass. 

“While we were employed in searching for it, Thorn- 
ton, whose ears were much sharper than mine, caught the 
sound of a horse. ‘ Mount ! mount ! ’ he cried, ‘ and let us 
be off!’ We sprung upon our horses, and rode away as 
fast as we could. I wished to go home, as it was so near 
at hand ; but Thornton insisted on making to an old shed, 
about a quarter of a mile across the fields : thither, there- 
fore, we went.’’ 

“ Stop,” said I : “ what did Thornton do with the re- 
maining part of the case-knife ? Did he throw it away, 
or carry it with him ? ” 

“He took it with him,” answered Dawson, “for his 
name was engraved on a silver plate on the handle ; and 
he was therefore afraid of throwing it into the pond, as I 
advised, lest at any time it should be discovered. Close 
by the shed there is a plantation of young firs of some 
extent : Thornton and I entered, and he dug a hole with 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 305 

the broken blade of the knife, and buried it, covering up 
the hole again with the earth ’ 

“ Describe the place,” said I. Dawson paused, and 
seemed to recollect. I was on the very tenterhooks of 
suspense, for I saw with one glance all the importance 
of his reply. 

After some moments, he shook his head : “I cannot 
describe the place,” said he, “for the wood is so thick ; 
yet I know the exact spot so well, that, were I in any 
part of the plantation, I could point it out immediately.” 

I told him to pause again, and recollect himself; and 
at all events, to try to indicate the place. However, his 
account was so confused and perplexed, that I was forced 
to give up the point in despair, and he continued. 

“After we had done this, Thornton told me to hold the 
horses, and said he would go alone, to spy whether we 
might return ; accordingly he did so, and brought back 
word, in about half an hour, that he had crept cautiously 
along till in sight of the place, and then, throwing him- 
self down on his face by the ridge of a bank, had observed 
a man (who he w r as sure was the person with a cloak we 
had passed, and who, he said, was Sir Reginald Glanville) 
mount his horse on the very spot of the murder, and ride 
off, while another person (Mr. Pelham) appeared, and also 
discovered the fatal place. 

“ ‘ There is no doubt now,’ said he, ‘that we shall have 
the hue-and-cry upon us. However, if you are staunch 
and stout-hearted, no possible danger can come to us ; 


26 * 


306 


PELH AM J OR, 


for von may leave me alone to throw the whole guilt upon 
Sir Reginald Glanville.’ 

“We then mounted, and rode home. We stole up 
stairs by the back way. Thornton’s linen and hands 
were stained with blood. The former he took olf, locked 
up carefully, and burnt the first opportunity : the latter 
he washed ; and, that the water might not lead to detec- 
tion, dranJc it. We then appeared as if nothing had oc- 
curred, and learnt that Mr. Pelham had been to the house ; 
but as, very fortunately, our out-buildings had been lately 
robbed by some idle people, my wife and servants had 
refused to admit him. I was thrown into great agitation, 
and was extremely frightened. However, as Mr. Pel- 
ham had left a message that we were to go to the pond, 
Thornton insisted upon our repairing there to avoid sus- 
picion.” 

Dawson then proceeded to say that, on their return, 
as he was still exceedingly nervous, Thornton insisted on 
his going to bed. When our party from Lord Chester’s 
came to the house, Thornton went into Dawson’s room, 
and made him swallow a large tumbler of brandy;* this 
intoxicated him so as to make him less sensible to his 
dangerous situation. Afterwards, when the picture was 
found, which circumstance Thornton communicated to 
him, along with that of the threatening letter sent by 
Glanville to the deceased, which was discovered in Tyr- 
rell’s pocket-book, Dawson recovered courage, and jus 


* A common practice with thieves who fear the weas nerves of 
their accomplices. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 301 

tice being entirely thrown on a wrong scent, he managed 
to pass his examination without suspicion. He then went 
to town with Thornton, and constantly attended “ the 
club” to which Jonson had before introduced him ; at 
first, among his new comrades, and while the novel flush 
of the money he had so fearfully acquired lasted, he par- 
tially succeeded in stifling his remorse. But the success 
of crime is too contrary to nature to continue long ; his 
poor wife, whom, in spite of her extravagant and Jus 
dissolute habits, he seemed really to love, fell ill and died ; 
on her death-bed she revealed the suspicions she had 
formed of his crime, and said that those suspicions had 
preyed upon and finally destroyed her health : this awoke 
him from the guilty torpor of his conscience. His share 
of the money, too, the greater part of which Thornton 
had bullied out of him, was gone. He fell, as Job had 
said, into despondency and gloom, and often spoke to 
Thornton so forcibly of his remorse, and so earnestly of 
his gnawing and restless desire to appease his mind by 
surrendering himself to justice, that the fears of that vil- 
lain grew at length so thoroughly alarmed, as to procure 
his removal to his present abode. 

It was here that his real punishment commenced : 
closely confined to his apartment, at the remotest corner 
of the house, his solitude was never broken but by the 
short and hurried visits of his female gaoler, and (worse 
even than loneliness) the occasional invasions of Thorn- 
ton. There appeared to be in that abandoned wretch, 
what, for the honor of human nature, is but rarely found, 


308 


PELHAM; OR, 


viz a love of sin, not for its objects, but itself. With a 
malignity, doubly fiendish from its inutility, he forbade 
Dawson the only indulgence he craved — a light during 
the dark hours ; and not only insulted him for his 
cowardice, but even added to his terrors by threats of 
effectually silencing them. 

These fears had so wildly worked upon the man’s mind, 
that prison itself appeared to him an elysium to the hell 
he endured : and when his confession was ended, and I 
said, “ If you can be freed from this place, would you 
repeat before a magistrate all that you have now told 
me?” he started up in delight at the very thought. In 
truth, besides his remorse, and that inward and impelling 
voice which, in all the annals of murder, seems to urge 
the criminal onwards to the last expiation of his guilt — 
besides these, there mingled in his mind a sentiment of 
bitter, yet cowardly, vengeance, against his inhuman ac- 
complice ; and perhaps he found consolation for his own 
fate, in the hope of wreaking upon Thornton’s head some- 
what of the tortures that ruffian had inflicted upon him. 

I had taken down in my book the heads of the confes- 
sion, and I now hastened to Jonson, who, waiting with- 
out the door, had (as I had anticipated) heard all. 

“You see,” said I, “that, however satisfactory this 
recital has been, it contains no secondary or innate proofs 
to confirm it ; the only evidence with which it could fur- 
nish us, would be the remnant of the broken knife, en- 
graved with Thornton’s name ; but you have heard from 
Dawson’s account, how impossible it would be in an ex- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 309 

tensive wood, for any one to discover the spot but himself. 
You will agree with me, therefore, that we must not leave 
this house without Dawson.” 

Job changed color slightly. 

“I see as clearly as you do,” said he, “that it will be 
necessary for my annuity, and your friend’s full acquittal, 
to procure Dawson’s personal evidence, but it is late now ; 
the men may be still drinking below ; Bess may be still 
awake and stirring ; even if she sleeps, how could we pass 
her room without disturbing her ? I own that I do not 
see a chance of effecting his escape to-night, without in- 
curring the most probable peril of having our throats 
cut. Leave it, therefore, to me to procure his release as 
soon as possible — probably to-morrow, and let us now 
quietly retire, content with what we have yet got.” 
Hitherto I had implicitly obeyed Job : it was now my 
turn to command “ Look you,” said I, calmly but sternly 
“ I have come into this house under your guidance, solely 
to procure the evidence of that man ; the evidence he 
has, as yet, given, may not be worth a straw ; and, since 
I have ventured among the knives of your associates, it 
shall be for some purpose. I tell you fairly that, whether 
you befriend or betray me, I will either leave these walls 
with Dawson or remain in them a corpse.” 

“You are a bold blade, sir,” said Jonson, who seemed 
rather to respect than resent the determination of my 
tone, “and we will see what can be done ; wait here, your 
honor, while I go down to see if the boys are gone to bed, 
ard the coast is clear.” 


310 


PELHAM; OR, 


\ 


Job descended, and I re-entered Dawson’s room. When 
I told him that we were resolved, if possible, to effect his 
escape, nothing could exceed his transport and gratitude ; 
this was, indeed, expressed in so mean and servile a man- 
ner, mixed with so many petty threats of vengeance against 
Thornton, that I could scarcely conceal my disgust. 
Jonson returned, and beckoned me out of the room. 
“They are all in bed, sir,” said he — “ Bess as well as 
the rest ; indeed, the old girl has lushed so well at the 
bingo, that she sleeps as if her next morrow was the day 
of judgment. I have, also, seen that the street-door is 
still unbarred, so that, upon the whole, we have, perhaps, 
as good a chance to-night as we may ever have again 
All my fear is about that cowardly lubber. I have left 
both Bess’s doors wide open, so we have nothing to do 
but to creep through ; as for me, I am an old file, and 
could steal my way through a sick man’s room, like a 
sunbeam through a key-hole.” 

“ Well,” said I, in the same strain, “I am no elephant, 
and my dancing-master used to tell me I might tread on 
a butterfly’s wing without brushing off a tint : (poor 
Coulon ! he little thought of the use his lessons would 
be to me hereafter !) — so let us be quick, Master Job.” 

“ Stop,” said Jonson ; “ I have yet a ceremony to per- 
form with our caged bird. I must put a fresh gag on his 
mouth ; for though, if he escapes, I must leave England, 
perhaps for ever, for fear of the jolly boys, and, therefore, 
care not what he blabs about me ; yet there are a few fine 
fellows amongst the club, whom I would not have hurt 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 311 

for t he Indies ; so I shall make Master Dawson take our 
last oath. — the Devil himself would not break that, I 
think ! Your honor will stay outside the door, for we 
can have no witness while it is administered.” 

Job then entered ; [ stood without; — in a few mirntes 
T heard Dawson’s voice in the accents of supplication. 
Soon after Job returned. “ The craven dog won’t take 
the oath,” said he, “ and may my right hand rot above 
ground before it shall turn key for him unless he does.” 
But when Dawson saw that Job had left the room and 
withdrawn the light, the conscience-stricken coward came 
to the door, and implored Job to return. “Will you 
swear, then?” said Jonson ; “I will, I will,” was the 
answer. 

Job then re-entered — minutes passed away — Job re- 
appeared, and Dawson was dressed, and clinging hold of 
him — “All ’s right ! ” said he to me, with a satisfied air. 

The oath had been taken — what it was I know not — 
but it was never broken . * 

Dawson and Job went first — I followed — we passed 
the passage, and came to the chamber of the sleeping 
Mrs. Brimstone. Job bent eagerly forward to listen, be- 
fore we entered ; he took hold of Dawson’s arm, and 
beckoning to me to follow, stole, with a step that the 
blind mole would not have heard, across the room. Care- 
ful ly did the practised thief veil the candle he carried 
with his hand, as he now began to pass by the bed. 1 

* Those conversant with the annals of Newgate well know how 
religiously the oaths of these fearful Freemasonrics are kept. 

2s 


312 


PELHAM; OR. 


saw that Dawson trembled like a leaf, and the palpitation 
of his limbs made his step audible and heavy. Just as 
they had half-way passed the bed, I turned my look on 
Brimstone Bess, and observed, with a shuddering thrill, 
her eyes slowly open, and fix upon the forms of my com- 
panions. Dawson’s gaze had been bent in the same di- 
rection, and when he met the full, glassy stare of the 
beldame’s eves, he uttered a faint scream. This com- 
pleted our danger : had it not been for that exclamation, 
Bess might, in the uncertain vision of drowsiness, have 
passed over the third person, and fancied it was only myself 
and Jonson, in our way from Dawson’s apartment; but no 
sooner had her ear caught the sound, than she started up, 
and sat erect on her bed, gazing at us in mingled wrath 
and astonishment. 

That was a fearful moment — we stood riveted to the 
spot ! “ Oh, my kiddies,” cried Bess, at last finding 
speech, “you are in Queer-street, I trow! Plant your 
stumps, Master Guinea Pig ; you are going to stall off 
the Daw’s baby in prime twig, eh ? But Bess stags you, 
my cove ! Bess stags you.”* 

Jonson looked irresolute for one instant, but the next 
he had decided. “ Run, run,” cried he, “for your lives ;” 
and he and Dawson (To whom fear did indeed lend wings) 
were out of the room in an instant. I lost no time in 
following their example ; but the vigilant and incensed 
hag was too quick for me ; she pulled violently the bell, 

* “ Halt, — Master Guinea Pig, you are going to steal Dawson 
away, eh? But Bess sees you, my man, Bess sees you!” 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 


313 


on which she had already placed her hand : the alarm 
rang like an echo in a cavern ; below — around — far — 
near — from wall to wall — from chamber to chamber, the 
sound seemed multiplied and repeated ! and in the same 
breathing point of time she sprang from her bed and 
seized me, just as I had reached the door. 

“ On, on, on,” cried Jonson’s voice to Dawson, as they 
had already gained the passage, and left the whole room, 
and the staircase beyond, in utter darkness. 

With a firm, muscular, nervous gripe, which almost 
showed a masculine strength, the hag clung to my throat 
and breast , behind, among some of the numerous rooms 
in the passage we had left, I heard sounds which told too 
plainly how rapidly the alarm had spread. A door opened 
. — steps approached — my fate seemed fixed ; but despair 
gave me energy : it was no time for the ceremonials due 
to the beau sexe. I dashed Bess to the ground, tore my- 
self from her relaxing grasp, and fled down the steps with 
all the precipitation the darkness would allow. I gained 
the passage, at the far end of which hung the lamp, now weak 
and waning in its socket, which, it will be remembered, burnt 
close by the sick man’s chamber that I had so unintention- 
ally entered. A thought flashed upon my mind, and lent 
me new nerves and fresh speed ; I flew along the passage, 
guided by the dying light. The staircase I had left shook 
with the footsteps of my pursuers. T was at the door of 
the sick thief — I burst it open — seized the sword as it 
lay within reach on the chair, where Jonson had placed 
it and feeling, at the touch of the familiar weapon, as 
II — 27 


814 


PELHAM; OR, 


if the might of ten men had been transferred to my single 
arm, I bounded down the stairs before me — passed the 
door at the bottom, which Dawson had fortunately left 
open — flung it back almost upon the face of my advancing 
enemies, and found myself in the long passage which led 
tc the street-door, in safety, but in the thickest darkness 
A light flashed from a door to the left; the door was that 
of the “Common room” which we had first entered; it 
opened, and Spider-shanks, with one of his comrades, 
looked forth, the former holding a light. I darted by 
them, and, guided by their lamp, fled along the passage, 
and reached the door. Imagine my dismay — when, either 
through accident, or by the desire of my fugitive compan- 
ions to impede pursuit, I found it unexpectedly closed ! 

The two villains had now come up to me; close at 
their heels were two more, probably my pursuers from 
the upper apartments. Providentially the passage was, 
(as I before said) extremely narrow, and as long as no 
fire-arms were used, nor a general rush resorted to, I had 
little doubt of being able to keep the ruffians at bay, until 
I had hit upon the method of springing the latch, and so 
winning my escape from the house. 

While my left hand was employed in feeling the latch, 
I made such good use of my right, as to keep my antag- 
onists at a safe distance. The one who was nearest to 
me was Fib Fakescrew ; he was armed with a weapon 
exactly similar tp my own. The whole passage rung 
with oaths and threats. “Crash the cull — down with 
him — down with him before he dubs the jigger. Tip 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN ?U5 

him the degan, Fib, fake him through and through ; if 
he pikes, we shall all be scragged.”* 

Hitherto, in the confusion, I had not been able to re- 
call Job’s instructions in opening the latch ; at last I re- 
membered, and pressed the screw — the latch rose — I 
opened the door, but not wide enough to escape through 
the aperture. The ruffians saw my escape at hand. 

“ Rush the b cove ! rush him ! ” cried the loud voice 

of one behind ; and, at the word, Fib was thrown for- 
wards upon the extended edge of my blade ; scarcely with 
an effort of my own arm the sword entered his bosom, 
and he fell at my feet bathed in blood ; the motion which 
the men thought would prove my destruction, became my 
salvation ; staggered by the fall of their companion, they 
gave way : I seized advantage of the momentary confu- 
sion, threw open the door, and, mindful of Job’s admo- 
nition, turned to the right, and fled onwards with a rapid- 
ity which baffled and mocked pursuit. 

* “Kill the fellow, down with him before he opens the door. 
Stab him through and through ; if he gets off we shall all be 
hanged.” 


316 


PELHAMJ OR, 


if* 


CHAPTER LXXXIV. 

Ille viam secat ad naves sociosque revisit. — Virgil. 

The day had already dawned, but all was still and 
lilent ; my footsteps smote the solitary pavement with a 
itrange and unanswered sound. Nevertheless, though all 
pursuit had long ceased, I still continued to run on me- 
chanically, till, faint and breathless, I was forced to pause. 
[ looked round, but could recognize nothing familiar in 
the narrow and filthy streets ; even the names of them 
were to me like an unknown language. After a brief 
rest I renewed my wanderings, and at length came to an 
Alley called River Lane ; the name did not deceive me, 
but brought me, after a short walk, to the Thames ; there, 
to my inexpressible joy, I discovered a solitary boatman, 
And transported myself forthwith to the Whitehall-stairs. 

Never, I ween, did gay gallant, in the decaying part 
>f the season, arrive at those stairs for the sweet purp )se 
if accompanying his own mistress, or another’s wife, to 
j;reen Richmond or sunny Hampton, with more eager 
and animated delight than I felt when rejecting the arm 
of the rough boatman, and leaping on the well-known 
stones. I hastened to that stand of “jarvies” which has 
often been the hope and shelter of belated member of 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 317 

St. Stephen’s, or bewetted fugitive from the Opera — 

startled a sleeping coachman — flung myself into his ve- 

* 

hide, — and descended at .Mivart’s. 

The drowsy porter surveyed, and told me to be gone ; 
I had forgotten, till then, my strange attire. “ Pooh, my 
friend,” said I, “may not Mr. Pelham go to a masquerade 
as w r ell as his betters ? ” My voice and words undeceived 
my Cerberus, and I was admitted ; I hastened to bed, and 
no sooner had I laid my head on my pillow, than I fell 
fast asleep. It must be confessed, that I had deserved 
“tired Nature’s sweet restorer.” 

I had not been above a couple of hours in the land of 
dreams, when I was awakened by some one grasping my 
arm : the events of the past night were so fresh in my 
memory, that I sprung up, as if the knife was at my throat 
— my eyes opened upon the peaceful countenance of Mr. 
Job Jonson. 

“ Thank Heaven, sir, you are safe ! I had but a very 
faint hope of finding you here when I came.” 

“Why,” said I, rubbing my eyes, “it is very true that 
I am safe, honest Job : but, I believe, I have few thanks 
to give you for a circumstance so peculiarly agreeable to 
myself. It would have saved me much trouble, and your 
worthy friend, Mr. Fib Fakescrew, some pain, if you had 
left the door open — instead of shutting me up with your 
club, as you are pleased to call it 1 ” 

“Tery true, sir,” said Job, “ and I am extremely sorry 
at the accident ; it was Dawson who shut the door, 
tur jugh utter unconsciousness, though I told him espe- 
27 * 


818 


PELIIAM; OR, 


daily not to do it — the poor dog did not know whether 
he was on his head or his heels.” 

“You have got him safe,” said I, quickly. 

“Ay, trust me for that, your honor. I have locked 
him up at home while I came here to look for you.” 

“ We will lose no time in transferring him to safer cus- 
tody,” said I, leaping out of bed ; “ but be off to 

Street directly.” 

“Slow and sure, sir,” answered Jonson. “It is for 
you to do whatever you please, but my part of the busi- 
ness is over. I shall sleep at Dover to-night, and break- 
fast at Calais to-morrow. Perhaps it will not be very 
inconvenient to your honor to furnish me with my first 
quarter’s annuity in advailce, and to see that the rest is 
duly paid into Lafitte’s, at Paris, for the use of Captain 
de Courcy. Where I shall live hereafter is at present 
uncertain ; but I dare say there will be few corners except 
old England and new England in which I shall not make 
merry on your honor’s bounty.” 

“Pooh ! my good fellow,” rejoined I, “never desert a 
country to which your talents do such credit ; stay here, 
and reform on your annuity. If ever I can accomplish 
my own wishes, I will consult yours still farther ; for I 

shall always think of your services with gratitude, 

though you did shut the door in my face.” 

“No, sir,” replied Job — “life is a blessing I would 
fain enjoy a few years longer; and, at present, my sojourn 
in England would put it wofully in danger of ‘ club law.' 
Besides, I begin to think that a good character is a very 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 31V) 

agreeable thing, when not too troublesome : and, as 1 
have none left in England, I may as well make the expe- 
riment abroad. If your honor will call at the magis- 
trate’s, and take a warrant and an officer, for the purpose 
of ridding me of my charge, at the very instant I see my 
responsibility at an end, I will have the honor of bidding 
you adieu.” 

“ Well, as you please,” said I. — “ Curse your scoun- 
drel’s cosmetics 1 How the deuce am I ever to regain 
my natural complexion ! Look ye, sirrah ! you have 
painted me with a long wrinkle on the left side of my 
mouth, big enough to engulf all the beauty I ever had. 
Why, water seems to have no effect upon it ! ” 

“To be sure not, sir,” said Job, calmly — “I should be 
but a poor dauber, if my paints washed off with a wet 
sponge.” 

“ Grant me patience ! ” eyed I, in a real panic : “ how, 
in the name of Heaven, are they to wash off! Am I, 
before I have reached my twenty-third year, to look like 
a methodist parson on the wrong side of forty, you 
rascal ! ” 

“The latter question, your honor can best answer,” 
returned Job. “With regard to the former, I have an 
unguent here, if you will suffer me to apply it, which will 
remove all other colors than those which nature has be- 
stowed upon you.” 

With that, Job produced a small box; and, after a 
brief submission to his skill, I had the ineffable joy of 
beholding myself restored to my original state. Never- 


320 


PELHAM; OR, 


theless, my delight was somewhat checked by the loss of 
my curls : I thanked Heaven, however, that the damage 
had been sustained after Ellen’s acceptation of my ad 
dresses. A lover confined to one, should not be toa 
destructive, for fear of the consequences to the remainder 
of the female world: — compassion is ever due to the' 
fair sex. 

My toilet being concluded, Jonson and I repaired to 
the magistrate’s. He waited at the corner of the street, 
while I entered the house — 

“’T were vain to tell what shook the holy Man, 

Who looked, not lovingly, at that divan.” 

Having summoned to my aid the redoubted Mr. 

of mulberry-cheeked recollection, we entered a hackney- 
coach, and drove to Jonson’s lodgings, Job mounting 
guard on the box. 

“ I think, sir,” said Mr. , looking up at th*e man 

of two virtues, “that I have had the pleasure of seeing 
that gentleman before.” 

“ Yery likely,” said I; “he is a young man greatly 
about town.” 

When we had safely lodged Dawson (who seemed more 
collected, and even courageous, than I had expected) in 
the coach, Job beckoned me into a little parlor. I signed 
nim a draft on my bankers for one hundred pounds — 
though at that time it was like letting the last drop from 
mv veins — and faithfully promised, should Dawson’s evi- 
dence procure the desired end (of which, indeed, there 
was now no doubt,) that the annuity should be regularly 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 321 

paid, as he desired. We then took an affectionate fare- 
well of each other. 

“Adieu, sir !” said Job, “ I depart into a new world 
— that of honest men !” 

“If so,” said I, “adieu indeed ! — for on this earth we 
shall never meet again ! ” 

We returned to Street. As I was descending 

from the coach, a female, wrapped from head to foot in a 
cloak, came eagerly up to me, and seized me by the arm. 
“ For God’s sake,” said she, in a low, hurried voice, 
“come aside, and speak to me for a single moment.” 
Consigning Dawson to the sole charge of the officer, I 
did as I was desired. When we had got some paces 
down the street, the female stopped. Though she held 
her veil closelv drawn over her face, her voice and air 
were not to be mistaken : I knew her at once. “ Glan- 
ville,” said she, with great agitation, “ Sir Reginald 
Glanville ; tell me, is he in real danger ? ” She stopped 
short — she could say no more. 

“I trust not 1” said I, appearing not to recognize the 
speaker. 

“ I trust not ! ” she repeated ; “ is that all ! ” And then 
the passionate feelings of her sex overcoming every other 
consideration, she seized me by the hand, and said — “ Oh, 
Mr. Pelham, for mercy’s sake, tell me, is he in the power 
of that villain Thornton ? You need disguise nothing 
from me ; I know all the fatal history.” 

“ Compose yourself, dear, dear Lady Roseville,” said I, 
soothingly ; “for it is in vain any longer to affect not to 


PELHAM; OR, 


know you. Glanville is safe ; I have brought with me a 
witness whose testimony must release him.” 

“ God bless you, God bless you ! ” said Lady Roseville, 
and she burst into tears ; but she dried them directly, and 
recovering some portion of that dignity which never long 
forsakes a woman of virtuous and educated mind, she 
resumed, proudly, yet bitterly — “ It is no ordinary motive, 
no motive which you might reasonably impute to me, that 
has brought me here. Sir Reginald Glanville can never 
be anything more to me than a friend — but, of all friends, 
the most known and valued. I learned from his servant 
of his disappearance ; and my acquaintance with his secret 
history enabled me to account for it in the most fearful 
manner. In short, I — I — but explanations are idle now ; 
you will never say that you have seen me here, Mr. Pel- 
ham : you will endeavor even to forget it — farewell.” 
Lady Roseville, then drawing her cloak closely round 
her, left me with a fleet and light step, and, turning the 
corner of the street, disappeared. 

I returned to my charge : I demanded an immediate 
interview with the magistrate. “ I have come,” said I, 
“ to redeem my pledge, and procure the acquittal of the 
innocent.” I then briefly related my adventures, only 
concealing (according to my promise) all description of 
my helpmate, Job ; and prepared the worthy magistrate 
for the confession and testimony of Dawson. That un- 
nappy man had just concluded his narration, when an 
officer entered, and whispered the magistrate that Thorn- 
ton was in waiting. 


adventures of a gentleman. 323 

Admit him,’’ said Mr. , aloud. Thornton entered 

with his usual easy and swaggering air of effrontery: but 
no sooner did he set his eyes upon Dawson, than a deadly 
and withering change passed over his countenance. Daw- 
son could not bridle the cowardly petulance of his spite 
“ They know all, Thornton ! v said he, with a look of 
triumph. The villain turned slowly from him to us, mut- 
tering something we could not hear. He saw upon my 
face, upon the magistrate’s, that his doom was sealed : 
his desperation gave him presence of mind, and he made 
a sudden rush to the door ; — the officers in waiting seized 
him. Why should I detail the rest of the scene ? He 
was that day fully committed for trial, and Sir Reginald 
Glanville honorably released, and unhesitatingly ac- 
quitted. 


CHAPTER LXXXV. 

Un hymen qu’on souhaite 
Entre les gens comme nous est chose bientot-faite, 

Je te veux; me veux-tu de meme? — Moliere. 

So may he rest, his faults lie gently on him. 

SUAKSPEARE. 

The main interest of my adventures — if, indeed, I may 
flatter myself that they ever contained any — is now over; 
the mystery is explained, the innocent acquitted, and the 
guilty condemned. Moreover, all obstacles between the 
marriage of the unworthy hero with the peerless heroine 


324 


PELHAM; OR, 


being removed, it would be but an idle prolixity to linger 
over the preliminary details of an orthodox and customary 
courtship. Nor is it for. me to dilate upon the exagger- 
ated expressions of gratitude, in which the affectionate 
heart of Glanville found vent for mv fortunate exertions 
on his behalf. He was not willing that any praise to 
which I might be entitled for them, should be lost. He 
narrated to Lady Glanville and Ellen my adventures with 
the comrades of the worthy Job ; from the lips of the 
mother, and the eyes of the dear sister, came my sweetest 
addition to the good fortune which had made me the in- 
strument of Glanville’s safety and acquittal. I was not 
condemned to a long protraction of that time, which, if 
it be justly termed the happiest of our lives, we, (viz. all 
true lovers,) through that perversity common to human 
nature, most ardently wish to terminate. 

On that day month which saw Glanville’s release, my 
bridals were appointed. Reginald was even more eager 
than myself in pressing for an early day ; firmly persuaded 
that his end was rapidly approaching, his most prevailing 
desire was to witness our union. This wish, and the in- 
terest he took in our happiness, gave him an energy and 
animation which impressed us with the deepest hopes for 
his ultimate recovery ; and the fatal disease to which he 
was a prey, nursed the fondness of our hearts by the bloom 
of cheek, and brightness of eye, with which it veiled its 
desolating and gathering progress. 

From the eventful day on which I had seen Lady Rose- 
ville, in Street, we had not met. She had shut her* 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 325 

self up in her splendid home, and the newspapers teemed 
with regret at the reported illness and certain seclusion 
of one whose fetes and gayeties had furnished them with 
their brightest pages. The only one admitted to her was 
Ellen. To her, she had for some time made no secret of 
her attachment — and from her the daily news of Sir Regi- 
nald’s health was ascertained. Several times, when at a 
late hour I left Glanville’s apartments, I passed the figure 
of a woman, closely muffled, and apparently watching be- 
fore his windows — which, owing to the advance of sum- 
mer, were never closed — to catch, perhaps, a view of his 
room, or a passing glimpse of his emaciated and fading 
figure. If that sad and lonely vigil was kept by her whom 
I suspected, deep, indeed, and mighty was the love, which 
could so humble the heart, and possess the spirit, of the 
haughty and high-born Countess of Roseville ! 

I turn to a very different personage in this veritable 
histoire. My father and mother were absent at Lady 
H.’s when my marriage was fixed; to both of them I 
wrote for their approbation of my choice. From Lady 
Frances I received the answer which I subjoin : — 

“ My Dearest Son, 

“Your father desires me to add his congratulations to 
mine, upon the election you have made. I shall haster 
to London, to be present at the ceremony. Although 
you must not be offended with me, if I say, that with 
your person, accomplishments, birth, and (above all) high 
ton , you might have chosen among the loftiest and wealth- 
iest families in the country ; yet I am by no means dis- 
II. — 28 


326 


PELHAM; OR, 


pleased or disappointed with your future wife. To say 
nothing of the antiquity of her name (the Glanvilles in- 
termarried with the Pelhams, in the reign of Henry II.), 
it is a great step to future distinction to marry a beauty, 
especially one so celebrated as Miss Glanville — perhaps 
it is among the surest ways to the cabinet. The forty 
thousand pounds which you say Miss Glanville is to re- 
ceive, make, to be sure, but a slender income ; though, 
when added to your own fortune, that sum in ready money 
would have been a great addition to the Glenmorris prop- 
erty, if your uncle — I have no patience with him — had 
not married again. 

“ However, you will lose no time in getting into the 
House — at all events the capital will insure your return 
for a borough, and maintain you comfortably till you are 
in the administration ; when of course it matters very 
little what your fortune may be — tradesmen will be too 
happy to have your name in their books ; be sure, there- 
fore, that the money is not tied up. Miss Glanville must 
see that her own interest, as well as yours, is concerned 
in your having the unfettered disposal of a fortune which, 
if restricted, you would find it impossible to live upon. 
Pray, how is Sir Reginald Glanville ? Is his cough as 
bad as ever ? By the by, how is his property entailed ? 

“ Will you order Stonor to have the house ready for 
us on Friday, when I shall return home in time for din- 
ner ? Let me again congratulate you, most sincerely, on 
your choice. I always thought you had more common 
sense as well as genius, than any young man I ever 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 32 f 


knew : you have shown it in this important step. Do- 
mestic happiness, my dearest Henry, ought to be pecu- 
liarly sought for by every Englishman, however elevated 
his station ; and when I reflect upon Miss Glanville’s qual 
ifications, and her celebrity as a beauty, I have no doubt 
of your possessing the felicity you deserve. But be sure 
that the fortune is not settled away from you ; poor Sir 
Reginald is not (I believe) at all covetous or worldly, and 
will not, therefore, insist upon the point. 

11 God bless you, and grant you every happiness. 

“ Ever, my dear Henry, 

“Your very affectionate Mother, 

“ F. Pelham.” 

“ P. S. — I think it will be better to give out that Miss 
Glanville has eighty thousand pounds. Be sure, there- 
fore, that you do not contradict me.” 

The days, the weeks flew away. Ah, happy days ! yet 
I (?-> not regret while I recall you ! He that loves much, 
fea.s even in his best-founded hopes. What were the 
an dous longings for a treasure — in my view only, not in 
my possession — to the deep joy of finding it forever my 
own. 

The day arrived — I was yet at my toilet, and Bedos in 
the g-eatest confusion ; — (poor fellow, he was as happy 
as m3 self!) when a letter was brought me, stamped with 
the foreign post mark. It was from the exemplary Job 
Jonso\ and though I did not even open it on that day, 
yet it shall be more favored by the reader — viz., if he 


S2S PELHAM; OR, 

will not pass over, without reading, the following effu« 
siou : — 

“ Rue des Moulins, No. — , Paris. 

“Honored Sir, 

“ I arrived in Paris safely, and reading in the English 
papers the full success of our enterprise, as well as in the 
Morning Post of the — th, your approaching marriage 
with Miss Grlanville, I cannot refrain from the liberty of 
congratulating you upon both, as well as of reminding 
you of the exact day on which the first quarter of my 
annuity will be due : — it is the of ; for I pre- 

sume your honor kindly made me a present of the draft 
for one hundred pounds, in order to pay my travelling 
expenses. 

“ I find that the boys are greatly incensed against me ; 
but as Dawson was too much bound by his oath to be- 
tray a tittle against them, I trust I shall ultimately pacify 
the club, and return to England. A true patriot, sir, 
never loves to leave his native country. Even were I 
compelled to visit Yan Diemen’s Land, the ties of birth- 
place would be so strong as to induce me to seize the first 
opportunity of returning ! I am not, your honor, very 
fond of the French — they are an idle, frivolous, penu- 
rious, poor nation. Only think, sir, the other day I saw 
a gentleman of the most noble air secrete something at 
a cafe , which I could not clearly discern : as he wrapped 
it carefully in paper, before he placed it in his pocket, I 
judged tha f it was a silver cream-ewer at least; accord- 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 32i 

ingly, I followed him out, and from pure curiosity — I do 
assure your honor, it was from no other motive — I trans- 
ferred this purloined treasure to my own pocket. You 
will imagine, sir, the interest with which I hastened to a 
lonely spot in the Tuileries, and carefully taking out the 
little packet, unfolded paper by paper, till I came to — yes, 
sir, till I came to — five lumps of sugar ! Oh, the French 
are a mean people — a very mean people — I hope I shall 
soon be able to return to England. Meanwhile, I am 
going into Holland, to see how those rich burghers spend 
their time and their money. I suppose poor Dawson, as 
well as the rascal Thornton, will be hung before you rc 
ceive this — they deserve it richly — it is such fellows wL, 
disgrace the profession. He is but a very poor bungler 
who is forced to cut throats as well as pockets. And 
now, your honor, wishing you all happiness with your 
lady, 

“ I beg to remain, 

“Your very obedient humble servant, 
“Ferdinand de Courcy, &c. &c.” 

Struck with the joyous countenance of my honest valet, 
as I took my gloves and hat from his hand, I could not 
help wishing to bestow upon him a blessing similar to 
that I was about to possess. “ Bedos,” said I, “ Bedos, 
my good fellow, you left your wife to come to me ; you 
shall not suffer by your fidelity : send for her — we will 
find room for her in our future establishment.” 

The smiling face of the Frenchman underwent a rap'd 


28 * 


330 


PELHAM; OR, 


change. l Ma foi ,” said he, in his own tongue ; “Mon- 

sieur is too good. An excess of happiness hardens the 
heart ; and so, for fear of forgetting my gratitude to 
Providence, I will, with Monsieur’s permission, suffer my 
adored wife to remain where she is.” 

After so pious a reply, I should have been worse than 
wicked had I pressed the matter any farther. 

I found all ready at Berkeley-square. Lady Grlanville 
is one of those good persons who think a marriage out 
of church is no marriage at all ; to church, therefore, we 
went. Although Reginald w T as now so reduced that he 
could scarcely support the least fatigue, he insisted on 
giving Ellen away. He was that morning, and had been 
for the last two or three days, considerably better, and 
our happiness seemed to grow less selfish in our increasing 
hope of his recovery. 

When we returned from church, our intention was to 

set off immediately to Hall, a seat which I had 

hired for our reception. On re-entering the house, Glan- 
ville called me aside — I followed his infirm and tremulous 
steps into a private apartment. 

“ Pelham,” said he, “ we shall never meet again ! No 
matter — you are now happy, and I shall shortly be so. 
But there is one office I have yet to request from your 
friendship ; when I am dead, let me be buried by her 
side, and let one tombstone cover both.” 

I pressed his hand, and, with tears in my eyes, made 
him the promise he required. 


* 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN. 33j 

“It is enough, ” said he ; “I have no farther business 
with life. God bless you, my friend, my brother; do not 
let a thought of me cloud your happiness.” 

He rose, and we turned to quit the room ; Glanville 
was leaning on my arm; when he had moved a few paces 
towards the door, he stopped abruptly. Imagining that 
the pause proceeded from pain or debility, I turned my 
eyes upon his countenance — a fearful and convulsive 
change was rapidly passing over it — his eyes stared 
wildly upon vacancy. 

% “Merciful God — is it — can it be ? ” he said, in a low, 
inward tone. 

Before I could speak, I felt his hand relax its grasp 
upon my arm — he fell upon the floor — I raised him — a 
smile of ineffable serenity and peace was upon his lips ; 
his face was the face of an angel, but the spirit had passed 

away ! 


332 


PELHAM; OR, 


CHAPTER LXXXVI. 

Now haveth good day, good men all, 

Haveth good day, yong and old; 

Haveth good day, both great and small, 

And graunt merci a thousand fold ! 

Gif ever I might full fain I wold, 

Don ought that were unto your leve, 

Christ keep you out of carhs cold, 

For now *t is time to take my leave. — Old Sony. 

Several months have now elapsed since my marriage. 
I am living quietly in the country, among my books, and 
' ; ooking forward with calmness, rather than impatience, 
to the time which shall again bring me before the world. 
Marriage with me is not that sepulchre of all human 
tope and energy which it often is with others. I am not 
more partial to my arm-chair, nor more averse to shav- 
/ng, than of yore. I do not bound my prospects to the 
dinner-hour, nor my projects to “ migrations from the 
blue bed to the brown.” Matrimony found me ambi- 
tious : it has not cured me of the passion ; but it has 
concentrated what was scattered, and determined what 
was vague. If I am less anxious than formerly for the 
reputation to be acquired in society, I am more eager for 
honor in the world ; and instead of amusing my enemies 
and the saloon, I trust yet to be useful to my friends and 
to mankind. 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 


333 


Whether this is a hope altogether vain and idle ; whe- 
ther I have, in the self-conceit common to all men, (thou 
wilt perchance add, peculiarly prominent in myself!) over- 
rated both the power and the integrity of my mind (for the 
one is bootless without the other,) neither I nor the world 
can yet tell. “ Time,” says one of the fathers, “is the 
only touchstone which distinguishes the prophet from the 
boaster.” 

Meanwhile, gentle reader, during the two years which 
I purpose devoting to solitude and study, I shall not be 
so occupied with my fields and folios, as to become un- 
courteous to thee. If ever thou hast known me in the city, 
I give thee a hearty invitation to come and visit me in the 
country. I promise thee that my wines and viands shall 
not disgrace the companion of Guloseton ; nor my con- 
versation be much duller than my book. I will compli- 
ment thee on thy horses, — thou shalt congratulate me 
upon my wife. Over old wine we will talk over new 
events ; and, if we flag at the latter, why, we will make 
ourselves amends with the former. In short, if thou art 
neither very silly nor very wise, it shall be thine own fault 
if we are not excellent friends. 

I feel that it would be but poor courtesy in me, after 
having kept company with Lord Vincent through the 
tedious journey of these pages, to dismiss him now with- 
out one word of valediction. May he, in the political 
course he has adopted, find all the admiration which his 
talents deserve j and if ever we meet as foes, let our 




S34 PELHAM; OR, 

heaviest weapon be a quotation, and our bitterest ven- 
geance a jest. 

Lord Guloseton regularly corresponds with me, and 
his last letter contained a promise to visit me in the 
course of the month, in order to recover his appetite 
(which has been much relaxed of late) by the country 
air. 

My uncle wrote to me, three weeks since, announcing 
the death of the infant Lady Glenmorris had brought 
him. Sincerely do I wish that his loss may be supplied. 
I have already sufficient fortune for my wants, and suffi- 
cient hope for my desires. 

Thornton died as he had lived — the reprobate and the 
ruffian. “ Pooh,” said he, in his quaint brutality, to the 
worthy clergyman who attended his last moments with 
more zeal than success ; “ Pooh, what ’s the difference 
between gospel and go — spell? we agree like a bell and 
its clapper — you’re prating while I’m hanging .” 

Dawson died in prison, penitent and in peace. Cow- 
ardice, which spoils the honest man, often redeems the 
knave. 

From Lord Dawton I have received a letter, request- 
ing me to accept a borough (in his gift), just vacated. 
It is a pity that generosity — such a prodigal to those 
who do not want it — should often be such a niggard to 
those who do. I need not specify my answer. I hope 
yet to teach Lord Dawlon, that to forgive the minister 
is not to forget the affront. Meanwhile, I am content to 


335 


ADVENTURES OF A GENTLEMAN 

bury myself in my retreat, with my mute teachers of logic 
and legislature, in order, hereafter, to justify his lordship’s 
good opinion of my abilities. Farewell, Brutus, we shall 
meet at Philippi ! 

It is some months since Lady Roseville left England ; 
the last news we received of her, informed us that she 
was living at Sienna, in utter seclusion, and very infirm 
health. 

“ The day drags thro’, though storms keep out the sun, 

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.” 

Poor Lady Glanville ! the mother of one so beautiful, 
so gifted, and so lost. What can I say of her which 

“you, and you, and you ” all who are parents, can* 

not feel, a thousand times more acutely, in those recesses 
of the heart too deep for words or tears. There are yet 
many hours in which I find the sister of the departed in 

grief that even her husband cannot console: and I 

/ my friend, my brother, have I forgotten thee in 

death ? I laydown the pen, I turn from my employment 
— thy dog is at my feet, and looking at me, as if con- 
scious of my thoughts, with an eye almost as tearful as 
my own. 

But it is not thus that I will part from my Reader; 
pnr greeting was not in sorrow, neither shall be our 
adieus. For thee, who hast gone with me through the 
motley course of my confessions, I would fain trust that 
I have sometimes hinted at thy instruction, when only 


336 


P E L II A M ; OR, 

appearing to strive for thy amusement. But on this I 
will not dwell ; for the moral insisted upon often loses 
its effect ; and all that I will venture to hope is, that I 
have opened to thee one true, and not utterly hackneyed, 
page in the various and mighty volume of mankind. In 
this busy and restless world I have not been a vague 
speculator, nor an idle actor. While all around me were 
vigilant, I have not laid me down to sleep — even for the 
luxury of a poet’s dream. Like the school-bov, I have 
considered study as study, but action as delight. 

Nevertheless, whatever I have seen, or heard, or felt, 
has been treasured in my memory, and brooded over by 
my thoughts. I now place the result before you — 

“ Sicut meus est mos, 

Nescio quid meditans nugarum ; 

but not perhaps, 

“ totus in illis.”* 

Whate-ver society — whether in a higher or lower grade 
— I have portrayed, my sketches have been taken rather 
as a witness than a copyist ; for I have never shunned 
that circle, nor that individual, which presented life in a 
fresh view, or man in a new relation. It is right, how- 
ever, that I should add, that as I have not wished to be 
an individual satirist, rather than a general observer, I 
have occasionally, in the subordinate characters (such as 


* “According to my custom, meditating, I scarcely know what 
of trifles; but not, perhaps, wholly wrapt in them.” 


Russelton and Gordon), taken only the outline from truth, 
and filled up the colors at my leisure and my will.* 

With regard to myself I have been more candid. I 
have not only shown — non pared manu — my faults, but 
(grant that this is a much rarer exposure) my foibles; 
and, in my anxiety for your entertainment, I have not 
grudged you the pleasure of a laugh — even at my own 
expense. Forgive me, then, if I am not a fashionable 
hero — forgive me if I have not wept over a “blighted 
spirit,” nor boasted of a “ British heart;” and allow that 
a man who, in these days of alternate Werters and Wor- 
thies, is neither the one nor the other, is, at least, a 
novelty in print, though, I fear, common enough in life. 

And now, my kind reader, having remembered the pro- 

* May the Author, as well as the Hero, be permitted, upon this 
point, to solicit attention and belief. In all the lesser characters, 
of which the first idea was taken from lire, especially those referred 
to in the text, he has, for reasons perhaps obvious enough without 
the tedium of recital, purposely introduced sufficient variation and 
addition to remove, in his own opinion, the odium either of a copy 
or of a caricature. The Author thinks it the more necessary in the 
present edition to insist upon this, with all honest and sincere 
earnestness, because in the first it was too much the custom of 
criticism to judge of his sketches from a resemblance to some sup- 
posed originals, and not from adherence to that sole source of all 
legitimate imitation — Nature ; — Nature as exhibited in the general 
mass, not in the isolated instance. It is the duty of the novelist 
rather to abstract than to copy : — all humors — all individual pecu- 
liarities are his appropriate and fair materials: not so are the 
humorist and the individual! Observation should resemble the 
eastern bird, and, while it nourishes itself upon the suction of a 
tliousand flowers never be seen to settle upon one ! 


verb, and in saying one word to thee having said two for 
myself, . I will no longer detain thee. Whatever thou 
mayest think of me and my thousand faults, both as ah 
author and a man, believe me it is with a sincere and 
affectionate wish for the accomplishment of my parting 
Tords, that I bid thee — farewell I 






THE END. 

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